Blood Ties, Blood Lies
by Blood Diamond13
Summary: Twenty-two years can't destroy a picture painted in blood. Blood. The tie that binds so many, and breaks them all at once. The ruby liquid may very well be considered a crimson killer… (Rest of blurb inside) This story is dedicated to Melcyn for her birthday, I am honoured that she reads my stories. I hope you had a happy birthday, Melcyn! I care about you very much. Enjoy.
1. Bloody Blurb

_Twenty-two years can't destroy a picture painted in blood._

Blood. The tie that binds so many, and breaks them all at once. The ruby liquid may very well be considered a crimson killer… and yet, it sustains the life of thousands.

The scarlet lifeforce, turned into lifelessness so quickly. Not on its own… rather, by those that lust for it.

The blood of Gomez Addams boiled with passion for his black angel. His children, the family they had created… the gothic bliss they had adored to call home… meant happiness.

However, Mr. Addams history… the history he had not thought about, in years. The history he had prayed, he should never have to relive (in any way) again; has finally caught up with him.

Not only has his history caught up with him.

It has resurrected from the grave of his long-since buried past, emerged from the shadows… and fallen, through the rain… landing at his doorstep.

 ** _Previously copywritten works mentioned and/or used in Blood Ties, Blood Lies:_**

 ** _1\. "I Know I'm a Wolf" Young Heretics (lyrics_** )

 ** _2\. (disclaimer) There is a fanfiction by Da.Monktato entitled, Bloody Love. There is no correlation between that fanfiction the poem of the same title in Blood Ties, Blood Lies._**

 ** _3\. "Vampire Smile" Kyla la Grange (lyrics)_**

 ** _4\. "The Tell-Tale Heart" Edgar Allen Poe (excerpt and lines)_**

 ** _5\. "The Raven" Edgar Allen Poe (excerpt and lines)_**


	2. Unsubstantial Death is Amorous…

Chapter 1: Unsubstantial Death is Amorous…

 _"Red, stained the glass as it swished about,_

 _It never made noise despite all her efforts,_

 _The gurgling came not from the blood in the glass, nor from the blood that stained her broken heart,_

 _It came not from the wine -or whatever was left of it-_

 _It came not from her stomach (The life inside it… was it, still?)_

 _Not from her,_

 _For she was silent._

 _Rather, the bellowing, demonic noise was merely a deluded form of mockery_

 _Coming from the woman whom possessed the sharpness within her, necessary to kill… shocking to say it was not her drunkard husband,_

 _But rather, it was her own blood-tie._

 _Sucking the blood of her own, draining it… the first sacrifice._

 _She never thought that her sister would ever satisfy her lust for the crimson liquid._

 _She hadn't._

 _However, she had deepened it,_

 _Deepened the vampire's depravity away from darkness, and into madness…_

 _The masochistic devastation left in the queen's wake each time she killed,_

 _Sent chills down her spine,_

 _The sacrificial lamb, mortal blood… her own blood sucked to better herself,_

 _Was equivalent to orgasm._

 _At that moment, she knew her soul had disappeared._

 _She did not kill to revive herself,_

 _But rather, she seduced, she murdered to remind herself,_

 _That her blood was still pumping through her veins of ice._

 _To remind herself that blood ties, blood lies._

 _That was how it started."_

Black fabric was scattered in silken pools about the grand, gothic bedroom. Dark walls only shown, slightly due to the light of the candles that glowed in the amorous darkness. Glasses, filled to the rim with red wine sat atop the small, wooden nightstand. Music, romantic to the macabre lovers (slow, sensual melodies equipped with lyrics of love, pain, blood… beauty, passion) played on a record in the corner of the room; the other side containing rock and metal, for those other kinds of days when they had the thought to bring music into it.

A strong, adoring hand slowly slid up a white, porcelain thigh; squeezing, teasingly, and eliciting a moan from the woman whose thigh the hand held. The man, whom controlled (hardly) the limb was utterly breathless at the sight beneath him.

The enchanting woman, who had held his once blackened heart and claimed it as her own since they had met, twenty-one years ago. Her hair, black as midnight, cascading down to her upper-back. Her eyes, two dark brown orbs of mystery. Her irresistible, rose petal lips; when painted, they were as red as the blood that boiled when he laid his eyes upon his dark bride. Her skin… as soft as the satin sheets they slept in, and as white as the snow that fell from the overly puffy clouds last winter. And her body, her beautiful body… lithe, curvy in all of the right places. She had the measurements of 37"-23"-37".

She was gorgeous. His beautiful Morticia.

He allowed his passion for his black angel to consume him whole (not that he had much of a choice… a choice at all). He was, would always be, her devoted slave. Everything to her, everything for her. Her diable, who would do whatever it took to adore and protect her… and who had perhaps had too much to drink that night.

But what did it matter? All that mattered was her, them, _now_.

"Mmm… mon amour." Morticia's voice was the first reason why her husband had given her the nickname, black angel. As that was exactly how it sounded. Her voice was soft, and that of a seductive black angel.

Morticia's lips met those of her lover's for an erotic dance, unwilling to part until she understood what he was about to do. And then she was more than willing. _"Please."_ The word came out as more of a request and less of a beg. But that was his Tish.

Gomez, two months older than his darling one and the definition of a handsome, hot-blooded Castilian. He was five inches taller than Morticia, standing (when he was) at six-foot-two. His voice alone could arouse the dead: perfectly accented in a Spanish-Italian manner. His eyes, large and deep brown. Of course, there was always something different in them in the way he looked at his wife. Without her, he would not exist. His hair, slicked back, jet black and fitting for his looks, especially his mustache (which was more like two, alluring lines of hair above his lips). His lips, his velvet lips and his taste of charm, wine and expensive cigars. And his form… he was built, and the years of dueling and activity showed in his physical attributes: he had a washboard-like stomach, and muscles, and he was even, and captivating.

Gomez's lips left a trail of dark bliss down Morticia's exposed body, and hands eased into the place she desired their presence. And did he make their presence known.

"Gomez…" Morticia moaned, hands above her head.

He continued, reveling in the pleasure-filled sounds escaping his encantadora.

" _Mon cher…"_ Louder, her voice grew, impassioned, and her hands gripped the luxury pillows. Her long, crimson nails, an almost complete contrast with the gothic grey bedsheets.

 _Knock._

"Cara mia…" Gomez groaned, as he buried his head inside of her.

 _Knock._

This was what is took to bring her to the edge.

" _Gomez!"_ Morticia cried out his name, immersed in the state of macabre paradise only he could transport her to.

Nothing.

"God, I adore you." Gomez grinned and let his hands, lips and tongue roam down her body, back up again.

He watched, lust in his eyes as his amore reached out her arms and wrapped them around his neck; looking into his fire-filled eyes, an adrenalized hunger, burning in her own.

Gomez's hands tangled in her hair, and his enchanting Morticia's legs wrapped around his torso. Leaning in, fervently, he kissed her, making out with her as hard as he possibly could. He skillfully removed one of his hands from her thick, silky hair and slipped one of his hands under her, grabbing her ass.

Groaning, Morticia purposefully dug her stiletto nails into the back of his neck, digging in and dragging downward.

Gomez hissed, but then a smirk played on his lips. "Ah, so we're going to play rough tonight?"

"Yes, we are." Morticia purred. "Besides, you like it."

"Mmm… so do you." With these words, Gomez kissed her cheek and traveled downward, stopping at her neck.

He sucked it, sensually, surely it would leave a hickey, if not- and he bit down.

"Ah!" Morticia let out a gasp, and pressed harder against him.

He sucked a bit of it up, and licked off some… whatever was left of the rest of the deep red liquid, he let trickle down.

Morticia looked into his eyes. "Yes, I do." She kissed him, herself tasting of darkness, red wine and elegance. "Prenez-moi, mon diable. _Maintenant._ "

Speaking fluent Spanish and Italian but limited French, however his blood completely reaching its boiling point every time the language left his wife's lips, Gomez kissed her neck and responded, "Oui."

Morticia laughed at Gomez's speaking French. And when laughter escaped from her amour, it only made her crave the feel of him inside of her more than she already did. She needed him and she needed him now.

Complying with her request and both of their desires, Gomez then entered her. He grew more impassioned with each thrust, unable to keep his hands, eyes, lips… anything off or out of her.

The other's name escaping from their throats between stolen kisses and impassioned cries, the lovers reached their climax in ecstatic unison.

Music still playing, and just a bit of wine still in the glass, Gomez's black angel curled up in his arms. There she would spend the remainder of the night… of eternity (in her husband's strong, worshipping arms).

Gomez held her in a tight, warm embrace. All but three candles, having burned out… unlike that of their romance. No matter the mortality of the human body; the fire of their love was one thing that was never to die.

"If I'm gonna go to Hell,

I'm gonna go to Hell with you."

Gomez sang, his fingers entangled in his gothic enchantress' hair and his other hand used to massage her shoulder.

"And I'll only go to Heaven,"

Morticia's melodic voice enveloped the area in which the pair was soon to sleep.

As did smoke; the grey cloud coming off the end of her husband's post-coital cigar surrounded the two, and part of their bed. Odd, it never, before, was so grey. It must be reflecting in the candlelight.

"If they let me,

Bring you, too."

Stifling a yawn, Morticia snuggled closer to her oxygen (as she was, his). "Je t'aime, mon amour." She purred.

"Ti amo, cara mia." Gomez kissed her. "You want to fall asleep to that music?"

Morticia nodded. "Yes. But I don't care what I fall asleep to as long as I'm in your arms."

"Oh, Tish…" Gomez then put out his cigar and held her closer. "I cannot tell you enough how much I adore you."

Morticia smiled. Some of the only times she ever truly flashed genuine smiles were for her husband. "Gomez?"

"Yes, my black angel?"

"I'm exhausted." Upon uttering the phrase, Morticia slowly maneuvered on top of him, casting a glance out the window at the picturesque lighting storm outside. "But not enough."

Gomez groaned, placing his hands on her hips. "Really? Well, I believe I have a few ways to rectify that situation."

Morticia ran a hand over his slicked back hair. "Yes; but do any of them involve my whip?"

"Oh, querida…" Gomez grinned. "They all do."

….

Pugsley had at long last, finished his decent down the five flights of stairs within the Addams mansion just to get down to the living room and greet his elder sister.

Winded, the young boy (ten years of age) tapped his two-years older and two-inches taller sister on the shoulder.

Hastily, she turned 'round; kitchen knife in hand. It was as though she were expecting a crazed axe-murderer and not her younger sibling, however that was the typical thought process that ran through the young and mature girl's brain. _Expect the best, hope for the worst. Stab surprises in the gut._

Wednesday Addams was her mother's daughter. She was five-foot-two with dark brown eyes. Her eyes were soulless, unfeeling. At the same time, she could make even her own teachers think she had nine of them in the back of her head. A thin child, she was, with pale lips. While she did not wear makeup, she painted her nails the same shade (or close to it) as her mother. Her raven hair was always (unless she was sleeping, and even then…), always in long braids. And her skin was the second-most pale white in the family (next to the almost ghostly complexion… of her mother).

" _Ah!"_ Pugsley screamed in shocked terror at the knife aimed directly at him. He instantly regretted it, feeling his sister's judgement at his fear. He would not have been so afraid, he just… wasn't ready.

Pugsley Addams was… if he had known his uncle (not only through a mere few pictures), he would understand that they were quite the similar pair. The boy was of average height for his age, and pudgy. He, too, had brown eyes. Although they were lighter than his sister's (both in colour and in spirit). His hair was of a light brown shade, and somewhat spiked up in the front. His skin was not too fair, while not being extremely pale when compared to his mother and sister.

"Oh. It's you." Wednesday acknowledged him.

She then raised an eyebrow, remembering the recent scream. Then, she touched the pointed edge of the knife with her fingertip; slightly pressing down. "Kitchen knife." She said. "Child's play."

Pugsley gulped.

"If I was going to kill you, I'd do it. And I wouldn't use a kitchen knife."

"I'll get you one day." Upset, Pugsley pointed a finger at her.

"You might. But now I know, all I need is a kitchen knife to protect myself." Wednesday's monotone voice told him. "One thrust of this, and you'll run for the hills."

"That is _not true!_ " Pugsley didn't intend for the contradiction to come out as a whine, but it did.

Damn his sister.

"And I didn't poison all of the cheerleaders in my gym class last year." Wednesday's eyes rolled, she, having said her sarcastic statement.

"But you said you did do that." Pugsley appeared genuinely confused.

Wednesday sighed, annoyed. "You're an idiot."

"Oh? Well, you're- "

"Not now." Wednesday held up a commanding hand as they both began to walk toward their large, brown, gothic double doors and main entrance. "I sent you upstairs for a reason. If I wanted to scare you, I have much easier ways of doing it."

Pugsley sighed, defeated for now and looked at his sister. "It's raining pretty hard outside."

"Yes." Wednesday replied, not seeing her brother's point. She paused, briefly. "Did you ask mother and father if we could open the door or not?"

"I…" Pugsley hadn't the slightest idea of what to tell her. The truth? _I got scared of walking in and ran away?_ Of course not! "I… kind of."

….

"My beautiful Tish…" Gomez smiled and held his querida as close as he possibly could.

Morticia traced her nails along his chest, where the fresh lash marks still were, would be for at least a day or two. "Mmm… _now_ , I'm exhausted." She let out an amorous sigh. "And pleasantly so."

"I try." Gomez chuckled as he rubbed her back; then, looking down at the lashes across his chest. "Ah, and so do you." He kissed her hand.

"Thirteen times…" Morticia reminisced.

"You do realize I'm going to have to make up for this, don't you?" Gomez's smirked, charmingly.

"What do you mean?" Morticia's perfectly arched eyebrow raised.

"My handcuffs are in the closet… for tomorrow night."

"Ah… that's good." Morticia's eyes closed for a moment.

"What is?"

"Keep your hand there."

Gomez laughed and did as bade. "Yes, Madame."

Morticia shivered, but Gomez kept his hand in the same area. "Mmm… I _adore_ that name." She paused, looking up at him, icy passion in her eyes. "And I love it when you're on your knees."

"Oh, I know you do." Gomez growled and stole her lips for a kiss.

"I hit you hard…" A hint of vulnerability flashed across Morticia's features and made itself apparent in her voice, making her husband weak. "If you really want to make up for tonight, take me to the dungeon tomorrow."

Gomez (not that he wasn't eager to already) would do anything for her, especially when she looked at him like that. He was her devoted slave. "Anything for you, mi hermosa diosa. How long has it been since I've strapped you to that wheel?"

"Oh, Gomez…" Morticia, spent, rested her head against him. "Three, painless days."

"Tish, have we really neglected it that much?" Gomez asked, gently pushing the hair from her face.

Morticia nodded.

"Well, we'll just have to devote the night to it, then. Leather straps, red hot pokers…" His voice trailed off in romantic thought as he eyed his nearly sleeping encantadora.

"Mmm… tomorrow, my dearest." Morticia snuggled up against him, nuzzling her head between his neck. "Je t'aime, mon cher."

"I love you, too, cara mia." Gomez kissed her.

Before he could utter another syllable, his darling one was fast asleep in his arms.

At this notion, Gomez blew out the last remaining candle and kissed her forehead; uttering one last phrase before letting sleep take him away, himself: "Goodnight, querida."

...

"Mother and father told us never to answer the door for strangers unless they give us permission first." Pugsley attempted an explanation.

Wednesday was monotone as ever. However, even the expressionless young girl was having a troublesome time masking her annoyance. "Did it sound they were coming downstairs anytime soon?"

"I mean…" Pugsley didn't particularly want to think back to that, nor did he wish to stick around long enough to judge his parents'… sounds, and what such sounds meant. "I don't, know."

Fed up, Wednesday tried another tactic. "Let me put it this way: When mother was screaming _yes, yes_ ; she wasn't giving you permission." The gothic young girl paused. "She probably didn't even know you were there." After her statement, she arched her eyebrow somewhat at her disturbed brother. "You didn't even go in there. Did you?"

"I don't want to be scarred for life." Pugsley answered. "But thanks to you, I am now."

"Please, Pugsley." Wednesday adjusted the white cuff of her otherwise all black dress (minus the matching collar). "There were so many _unfortunate encounters_ that we both had a lifetime full of memories before we hit ten."

"Yea." Pugsley nodded. It was one of the truer statements his sister had made today. "I still have Grandpa Terse's funeral stuck in my head…"

He shuddered at the thought of walking into his parents' bedroom at eight-years-old, planning to ask them when the reading of the eulogy would begin. He never did find out when the reading of the eulogy would begin.

Instead, he opened the door and- next thing he knew, he was downstairs, asking Máma why father was handcuffed to the bed and if they should call the police.

Wednesday gave a tilt of the head in acknowledgement. "Or the Christmas party?"

Pugsley studied his reflection in the main entrance mirror. He wore his usual clothing: a black and white stripped, short-sleeved shirt, black shorts and black boots with black socks.

He looked back at his sister.

She wore black boots as well; black combat boots.

"Which one?" Pugsley questioned.

 _He has a point in asking._ Wednesday thought. "I was nine. You were seven."

Pugsley's eyes grew wide. "Oh, that one."

"Mother and father had just gotten back from- "

" _The Black Hole of Calcutta_ , I know." Pugsley felt sick thinking about it.

He loved his parents and would rather them kiss than argue as opposed to his friend, Raymond's parents (all they did was break dishes, throwing them at one another in fights). But, the weekend of that Christmas party, all Pugsley wanted to do was burry his head in his new cannon.

"Don't interrupt me." Wednesday snapped.

"Sorry." Pugsley had forgotten how irritable his sister was.

That weekend, they had had the entire family over for a Christmas party. There would be stuffed vulture, and presents, and decorating the tree, and last but not least: dumping Máma's potion over all of the carolers, coming from the Tabernacle church to sing.

That had all happened… whilst their parents were either necking, tonguing, flirting, dancing or full-on making out. And heaven and hell forbid there was mistletoe around because one of them was going to all but fuck the other and everyone was going to watch. Because what was conveniently placed in every doorway? Mistletoe.

Wednesday and Pugsley had taken it upon themselves the next Christmas to conveniently misplace and burn the mistletoe and all remnants of it.

To their horrour, on Christmas morning… it came back.

"That Christmas party was… an experience." Pugsley continued.

"A scarring experience." Wednesday grimaced. "And to think, they bought more mistletoe after we quite literally torched it previously."

Pugsley laughed. "Yea- _what?_ " He stopped laughing.

"What?" Wednesday asked.

"You told me that Krampus was the one who brought back the mistletoe. You told me that I had been bad all year, and that one day, he was going to come back with the blow torch we used to destroy it and obliterate everything I've ever loved!" Pugsley's features appeared as though his whole world had been shattered. He gasped, at this new realization. "And when I asked why he wasn't going to come for you, you said it was because you were older!" His eyes were as wide as the baseballs Raymond hit at the park every Sunday. "I've been staying awake every Christmas for nothing…"

Wednesday scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Are we going to open the door or not?"

Pugsley ran to the door. _"You mean that woman's been standing there all this time?"_

"I thought there were two of them?" Wednesday could have sworn when she looked out the window… regardless, they were probably gone now. "They're probably gone now, Pugsley."

"We have to try. Wednesday, a tree just fell down outside! Look!" Pugsley pointed out the living room window. "We have to let them in."

Wednesday, whom could not have cared less, opened the door alongside her brother.

There was a woman at the door, and a young girl.

The woman was incredibly beautiful, but in the rain and darkness it was nay impossible to tell much else (apart from the fact that she was covered in bruises, except for her face; and she was bleeding).

The young girl was about Wednesday's height, and in equally poor shape as her… mother? Sister? She, too, was bleeding.

Wednesday and Pugsley stood there, mesmerized… for seconds, minutes… _could stay here for hours-_

Wednesday snapped out of whatever trance she and her brother were in, noticing the two were about to faint in the doorway.

"Pugsley- "

Before she could say anything else, both the… mother, and daughter collapsed in the front entrance.

Wednesday quickly grabbed hold of their wrists and pressed their necks, trying to feel for a pulse.

She felt nothing.

Pugsley, concerned, looked to his elder sister. "Are they dead?"

Wednesday then remembered their eyes. Red. And she peered into the open mouth of the young girl.

Two of her front teeth were unusually sharp.

Wednesday shook her head. "No."

"What do we do?"

Wednesday looked down at the pair, having fainted. "Go wake Lurch, have him take them inside. We'll put them up for the night."

"But, what if- "

"Now!"

No more command necessary, Pugsley jumped up and ran into the house.

The wind was picking up speed. The rain was coming down, hard enough to shatter a thin glass. Lightning struck down one of the oldest, tiniest trees in the cemetery.

The bats shouldn't have been out that night. But, they were.


	3. Follow Through

Chapter 2: Follow Through

The sun had not yet begun to show its obscene rays, peeking through the grey obesity of the cluster of rainclouds in the sky. The storm having subsided since midnight, all was eerily silent as far as could hear outside of the old Addams mansion. The bats, every one of them hanging upside down from their habitual, cold, dank caves… for the time being.

"Who are you exactly?" Máma questioned the pair, not one to beat around the bush.

The unidentified woman, having just woken up (as well as the young girl) responded to her question. "I'm Regina. Regina Diveena Blood. And this," Regina gestured toward the girl. "is my daughter, Scarlett."

Scarlett gave a graceful yet fatigued wave. "Hello."

Máma's entire aura exuded skepticism. "Alright, Regina. Might I ask why my grandchildren found you half-dead on our doorstep?"

Regina elegantly sipped her henbane tea.

Lurch had offered it to both she and Scarlett this morning; and she accepted it perfectly well, as if she knew him.

"You might." Regina replied, coyly.

"Sweetie, I don't want to play games with a stranger. It's ten a.m." Máma told her, flat out.

"Stranger?" Regina raised an eyebrow, as though being called a stranger were the most ludicrous thing she had ever heard. Then, gracefully setting down her cup of tea, she elaborated on her -somewhat of a- question. "I may be to you, dear. But to your son-in-law, I am certainly no stranger."

Máma's eye's widened. _"I beg your pardon?"_

Wednesday was sitting there, saying nothing, alongside her brother.

She was stunned. She never had seen someone who could compare, even slightly to her mother's enchantment. Yet, this woman, while still paling in comparison, did not quite do so the same as the others. She -to Wednesday's astonishment- was almost… give she a number, a seven-and-a-half out of ten. Ten, being her mother. No one… no one ever marked that high, in anyone's eyes.

Not in the eyes of anyone in the family, nor the outside world, nor Wednesday and certainly- not Gomez.

Long legs, from what could be seen by the dramatic crease in her black and blood red, gothic dress. Nails, a bit longer than average in length tapped the porcelain teacup when she sipped it. Eyes watched all in the room, despite their only being two of them (there was no shortage of her -to some degree- piercing eyes). Human eyes, apart from their iris' undeniable redness. The same dark red as her dress, and her lips, were her eyes. And her little girl's. Skin, the palest of white… as pale as the lady of the house, herself. Her hair was long, flowing down to her back in almost black waves, with the slightest hint of… red.

"I'm sure I was his first vampire but- "

" _Excuse me?"_ Máma's eyes were now popping out of her head.

"Oh, of course; the children." Regina winked as if she and Esmeralda were long-time friends.

It made the old witch physically ill.

"No. That wasn't what I meant." Esmeralda straightened her back, now feeling the need to defend her daughter and Gomez's wonderful relationship against this woman (whom she had an inkling, wasn't… something was, off). "Trust me, they've seen it all."

Pugsley pipped up, and gave an agreeing nod. "And heard it all."

"I… see." Regina pursed her heart-shaped lips. "Well, I would figure as much."

Suspicion was beginning to creep upon the young Wednesday as well. "How do you know father?" She inquired.

Regina took another sip of tea. "I'm sorry, who are you?"

"Wednesday." Wednesday responded, calm as ever.

"Yes, of course. Well, I know your father because twenty-two years ago, he and I…" She looked at Máma and effortlessly threw out an ingenuine nervous laugh. "dated, for a little while."

"So, why are you here?" Wednesday asked.

Máma gave an approving nod.

Regina sighed. "Well…"

….

Black dress shoes steadily stepped down the flights of stairs. Black dress shoes, paired with dress pants, the same colour of the night. What would be complete without a shirt? Burgundy, with a black vest, covered in gothic designs.

No hand held a railing, but rather a hand (decorated with its eternal piece: a pure gold wedding ring with the nickname, _Mon Cher_ , engraved in black, fantastic font on the inside), belonging to the beau diable, Gomez Addams, did hold his beautiful black angel in his arms that foggy, July morning.

He carried her down the stairs, intense passion for her, burning in his eyes, determined to cook her breakfast and be back as soon as possible to hold and physically adore his reason for existing.

"Toast, mi reina?" Gomez's nose pressed against Morticia's as he nearly finished descending the last flight of stairs. Unable to resist, he kissed her.

"Mmm… I'll like anything as long as it doesn't require your absence for more than a little while." Morticia replied, arms tight around her amour's neck.

"Oh, Tish…" Gomez smiled at her. "I will be as quick as possible. I promise." He paused. "I'll put on Hellraiser for us."

Morticia sighed, languidly resting her head against his chest. "You spoil me, mon amour."

Gomez's eyes looked deeply into hers. "I cannot help but spoil you, Tish. I worship you, mi encantadora."

"Mon cœur bat pour toi, mon amour. Je t'adore." Morticia's nails ran along the back of his neck as she pressed closer to him, her voice entrancing him completely.

Taking a laboured breath due to the erotic spell he had been placed under at her words, he spoke. "Cara mia…" Was all he could manage to say.

"Mon cher." Morticia knew exactly what she could do to make him take her on the stairs now two rooms away if that was what he wanted to do. In fact-

" _Dios mío."_

Perfectly propped against the wall, Gomez leaned in for a kiss; prepared to grab her and take things as far as he could take them with pants on.

Morticia held up a commanding and also intrusive, elegant finger before him. Staring into his eyes, she said, "That isn't what you call me."

" _Mi diosa."_ Gomez growled, correcting himself, losing control and desperately needing her.

"That's better." Morticia smirked, giving into both their desires and going in for the kiss.

Gomez, overtaken with lust, set her down then. Pinning her against the wall and barely drawing in breaths, he held her arms above her head.

Neither one of the lovers seemed to notice they were now standing in a thick, wide archway; nor would they care, had they noticed.

Morticia pressed closer to him (with what limited limbs she had) and delved deeper into the kiss. "Je te besoin, mon extase." She purred.

Fingers in her hair, Gomez was as close to her as possible, and yet wished he could somehow be closer. His lips met hers, and traveled down her jaw, her neck, and ventured to bite that spot which he was well aware would elicit that beautiful, gasp, half-moan-

" _Ah!"_ There it was. _"Mon diable."_

Gomez grabbed her then, his willingness to fight temptation gone (as if it truly ever had been…).

Lip-locking again, the amorous pair made-out, harder than the wall they leaned on for support.

Thing desperately wanted to try and tug Gomez's pant leg. But the poor thing was quite averse to venturing that close to the scene.

As the couple continued, Thing decided it was best to not be a handful for a change and just do it.

So, he scampered up to the pair and hopped onto Gomez's shoulder, knowing he would not care to pay attention to a thing like his pant leg being pulled on. Or, he would, for all the wrong reasons.

Morticia's captivating eyes fluttered open and she laughed when she was the first to realize poor Thing. "Mmm… mon amour, there's…" between breaths and kisses, she spoke. "Something on your shoulder."

Gomez raised an eyebrow and turned to see the hand. "Thing, old man!" His eyes shifted between he and his darling one. "Is everything alright? You seem distressed and…" He didn't want to be to impolite to tell his friend that interrupting he and his wife was completely improper so he attempted to think of something else to compensate. "Is everything alright?"

Rattled, Thing pointed into the living room.

The eyes of the two then followed Thing's finger, to lay eyes upon what Thing had been trying to show them for the past five minutes.

Wednesday, Pugsley and Máma were staring at them from the living room couch and chairs. Just… staring. And there was a woman, and a young girl with them, who had the most unusual red eyes.

Gomez suppressed a gulp. It certainly could not have been… there was no way.

Confused, the lovers walked into the living room.

Morticia was the first to speak. "Good morning." She greeted them.

Wednesday's face did not contort, but the small inflections her voice sounded as though it should have. "Good morning mother."

Pugsley had not yet looked up from his shoes. "Are they done yet?"

This earned him a kick in the shin from his older sister.

"Oww!" He bit his lip.

"Good morning." Máma feigned cheerfulness. "Well, I'm skipping breakfast. And seeing as you two have already eaten, I think we should drop the formalities and talk about the elephants in the room, shall we?"

Regina then held up an elegant hand. "Vampires, actually, dear." She corrected.

"Don't call me that." Esmeralda was not particularly friendly without her typical morning peace in the kitchen. Or peace, period. Especially, when she was uncertain about the company. "I don't like it."

Regina said nothing, merely continued to sip her tea.

Gomez, for the first time in all of his thirty-nine years of life, went cold. _Vampires?_ This woman looked so much like… _vampires_ …

"Good morning." Scarlett, who had been disconcertingly silent all morning, stood up from the couch; rising to her full height. "My name is Scarlett Rose Blood." She introduced herself, then, to Gomez and Morticia. "And this is my mother," She gestured to Regina. "Regina."

Gomez's heart stopped with dread at that name.

She was here. In his house. Interacting with his children.

Regina set her teacup, gently in her lap. She looked to her daughter, her brow furrowing briefly. "Scarlett, don't you remember?" After the light reprimand of her daughter, she turned her attention to the anxiety-ridden Castilian; and winked at him. "We've met before, dear."

Morticia remained stoic, but internally she grew concerned at the look Regina then shared with Gomez. That look… the fact that it was a look at all…

Unnoticed by those in the room with her, she observed the woman on the couch. Her long, gothic dress extended down past her ankles. It was black and blood red, with a black corset; Victorian designs covering its entirety. The vampire's dress had a high, black, gothic collar around the back of it, running off, the deeper the dress got into its low sweetheart neckline. Black, high heels… black, light hose. Nails as dark as the blood that filled her wine glasses. Six gothic rings, in total; all black and/or crimson, perhaps with an added silver touch… an elegant, black choker.

Whereas Morticia's gothic, long dress swept the floor. Formfitting was an understatement, it was tight. The cut was that of a dramatic V-neck, and while her corset was black, it was covered in gothic, witch-like patterns (they, too, were black). Her high heels with ankle straps were black, and her nails were crimson. She wore five rings in total; one of which was what she cared about most of all. Her permanent adornment and the symbol of her love: her wedding ring. Silver, with her nickname, _Cara Mia_ , engraved in black, elegant font.

"Gomez?"

The voice of his dark bride swiftly brought Gomez back to the present. "Yes?"

"How do you two know each other?" Morticia then folded her hands, gracefully and her eyes shifted to Regina. "Where are my manners? I'm Morticia Addams. It's… a pleasure, to meet you."

"Mrs. Addams? I think I got that from the session in the doorway." She laughed at her own joke. "Regina Blood." Regina smiled, somewhat… bitterly. "And you as well."

Morticia and Regina faced off in a half-staring contest regardless of having just met. The rules of which, having been transferred by way of telekinesis. The winner to be determined by… who ended up with less tea on their hands. Or, more blood…

"Is no one going to make him explain where in the hell she came from?" Máma asked, irritated and gesturing to Gomez.

Morticia was the first to break the stare-off. "Of course, Máma."

She and Gomez then took a seat on the couch, opposite that of Regina, Scarlett and Máma.

"Gomez?" Morticia asked. "Hearing that she hasn't, I'm going to ask you." She said. "Where did she come from?"

"Well," Gomez's eyes looked away from his wife's for a moment.

He never did that.

"I can explain where _we_ came from, thank you." Regina interrupted before Gomez could begin.

"Why didn't you?" Esmeralda questioned, as though Regina were being interrogated.

"Máma." Morticia scolded. She turned to Regina. "Go ahead, dear."

Regina almost flinched at Morticia's use of that word (so… similar to herself), but she did not. "Scarlett and I," she took her daughter's hand. As she spoke her next several sentences, emotions threatened to take hold of her words. "We… escaped, my lover, to put it tastefully. We were together for nine years. He horribly abused Scarlett and I. Despite all my previous efforts, I never could leave him." She dabbed her practically dry eyes with her fingertip.

Morticia then produced a black handkerchief and handed it to Regina.

"Thank you." Regina dabbed her eyes and continued. "No matter what I did, I went back or he found us." She paused. "So, I killed him."

The living room fell silent. Everyone froze. Nobody talked. Nobody breathed.

Finally, Morticia and Máma broke the silence. "You do what you must."

Gomez, in agreement with and approving of her statement, took his wife's hand and kissed it.

At this gesture, Morticia felt a bit more at ease. She moved even closer to him, now both hands held by his.

"Well, we couldn't stay in the vampire realm. I- "

Pugsley's hand slowly raised up.

Regina raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"There's a vampire realm?"

Regina nodded. "Yes."

Pugsley's eyes enlarged. _"Cool."_

Regina then continued her explanation. "I had nowhere else to go." She daintily set down the handkerchief, as if worried she might break the thing or vis versa. She looked at Gomez, vulnerability in her eyes. Her eyes. "And you did promise me, if I ever needed anything, you would be there."

Morticia's eyes shifted to her husband. "Pardon?"

"Tish, allow me to explain." Gomez was prepared. Wasn't he?

"Oh, I assumed you… told her."

"No, Regina. Why would I tell her? We were… that was years ago." Gomez turned to face Morticia.

Morticia was growing very worried, but showed none of it on her features. "Tell me what?" She questioned.

Gomez squeezed her hands, looking into her eyes, concentrating only on her. "My dearest, when I was seventeen, Regina and I…" He lowered his voice a bit. "You know that I tell you no lies, correct?"

"Yes." That came out as more of a skeptical statement than an assured one than intended.

"As you are aware, before I met you, I was a cad. Regina is…" He was practically mouthing his words. "a part of that. We dated for… a little while, and in the end, I ended up promising her that if she ever needed anything, I would be there for her."

Morticia slowly nodded. "I see."

Gomez put gentle hand to her cheek, and she held it. "My dearest, it was a long time ago."

"Twenty-two years." Regina added, taking an arrogant sip of tea.

How did she hear him? Gomez had spoke so quietly that… if the children couldn't hear him, and Esmeralda certainly couldn't… _vampires_ …

Esmeralda cast her an irritated glance.

Gomez paused, as if somehow affected by her words. "You know how very much I adore you, Tish."

Morticia's eyes locked with his. "I know." She nodded, a bit faster now. "It's just a bit…" She cocked her head, in thought. "Shocking." While using the word, she still remained incredibly calm. She then turned to Regina. "I can't imagine what you must be going through." Morticia stated, as kindly as she could. It came off just as intended; at least, to her. "Abused by your lover and killing him all within the span of a few short years."

"No one can." Regina replied. "It's been such a traumatic experience for the both of us. Being that we had nowhere to go, we figured we could stay with you for a while."

Morticia was not favouring this idea, but she held her tongue until Regina was through.

"Of course, if that's alright with you." Her eyes fell solely on Morticia's husband.

"Well, Regina…" Gomez did not know how to phrase what he truly wanted to say.

Why? The charming, suave Spaniard never had trouble doing such things, unless of course it was around his beautiful encantadora in a heat of passion. And even then, it wasn't so much phrasing as it was getting lost in her beauty.

But, now, Gomez could not begin to tell Regina that he did not think it was such a splendid idea to have her. He had children, a family and oh, who was he fooling? That was not the true reason and he knew it. That was only part of the big picture. No one, could ever feast their eyes (or any other part for that matter) upon the big picture. But if Gomez did wipe so much as a stain, over that picture; or worse, tarnish it all together… all hell would break loose.

Therefore, he could not tell Regina he smelled a bat. He had to lie. He had to let her… stay in his home… _vampires…_

Gomez chuckled, rather nervously. "A lot has happened since then."

"For both of us." Hurt from her past and possible present transformed her nonetheless striking features. (Disingenuous in underlying appearance, to the other women in the room.)

There was that look again.

It did not lessen any amount of concern growing within Morticia.

"Touché." Gomez was attempting to play off his apprehension. It was not working. "Yes." He finally said. "Yes, of course you can stay."

Wednesday stayed still. Pugsley stared at Scarlett. Esmeralda could not believe her ears. Morticia was floored; but her physicalities remained the same.

Morticia turned to her husband, knowing he could read her well. She was trying desperately to ask him what in the hell he just had done and why he did it with her eyes.

Gomez knew immediately the message those distressed yet enchanting eyes of hers was trying to convey. He wished to any power that he could have consulted her. But all the wishing in the world could never changed what was.

He knew.

"Wonderful." Regina smiled, having just taken her last sip of tea. "Thank you, dear."

Gomez wanted to find a dark hole, crawl into it and leave this physical world. He could feel the tension at the name Regina had just called him, radiating off of his wife and it was killing him.Esmeralda waited for her daughter's reaction. If she was anything like her-

"We'll have Lurch prepare a guestroom for you and your daughter." Morticia spoke coolly, smoothing down her dress (as if it needed to be).

It had been confirmed. She had been switched at birth. No. No, she was too much like her father. _Too much._

"Oh, thank you. You're too kind." Regina hesitated, as a victim of… trauma, would. She turned to Gomez, seemingly happy that Morticia had offered to. "Gomez? Would you mind showing me around upstairs? I'm assuming that's where our rooms are and… well, I just don't think I can stomach being alone at the moment."

Morticia's eyes enlarged and she stood, making like she was moving to turn off a lamp and she had stopped, turning 'round at Regina's words, so as not to raise alarm. She understood Regina was going through a rough time but this was pushing it a bit.

It wasn't that they didn't have room, they had plenty of space for the both of them and likely half of the U.S. army until quarters became tight. But her decency… her lack thereof, was ridiculous.

"Rooms?" Morticia questioned.

"Scarlett is accustomed to being by herself." Regina elaborated.

"Hmm." Morticia raised an eyebrow. "And you're not?"

"No." Regina stated, then staring into her eyes, came back with: "I don't think you are either."

Offended and suspicion only growing; Morticia took a short, almost silent breath in. "You don't know me well enough to pass judgment, dear." She said. "Besides, you haven't been here for the past twenty-one years. Have you?"

"Twenty-two." Regina smirked.

"Twenty-one." Morticia corrected. "I wasn't just some sl- "

"Gomez, go show trauma the upstairs." Esmeralda ordered.

Gomez was surprised she was in on the idea, and not opposed to it. Was she feeling alright? Was he?

No. He wasn't.

"Yes, Gomez, please." Regina looked toward him. "It will give the children a chance to get to know each other. They will be together for a while, after all."

Gomez looked up from the couch at his wife, praying that she would understand… but knowing she wouldn't.

To understand, she would have to dive into his past and learn the truth. And that, even for an Addams, was dangerous.

"Very well." He agreed, hesitant and not well at all.

He then walked over to the couch, and -ever the gentleman- took her hand, showing her out of the living room and up the stairs.

With the two gone, Morticia looked over at her mother.

Esmeralda was now standing, ready to lead Morticia out of the living room.

Morticia was beyond upset, but again, only her voice showed it.

Her children were around.

" _Why did you do that?"_

Esmeralda was wise and worried in expression. "I _did that_ before you said something you'd regret." She snapped. Her explanation came as she forced her daughter to accompany her out of the living room. "That's the first time in your entire thirty-nine years of life I've had to do that. I don't want to see it happen again."

"Máma, really- "

The voices trailed off as the women moved farther away from the room, Thing in hand.

All that were left, were the children.

Pugsley, since the moment he had first laid eyes on her, twelve hours ago… had not stopped staring at her. He felt a fluttering in his heart when his eyes did gaze upon her, almost as though bats truly did inhabit it. His stomach knotted, and he felt like vomiting. But the good kind of vomiting. Was there a good kind? Could anyone else relate to this? God, she was beautiful. And smart; she had stayed out of the adults' conversation, mostly the whole time. As had he.

Even the sound of her name was beautiful. _Scarlett._

The perfect mix of a mature young girl, and a child; she was five-foot-one, and thin. Hair, flowing out of her head in long, dark brown-red waves. Her skin was as pale as her mother's. Her eyes were human, and her irises were a lovely dark red.

When nervous or bored, she oft smoothed down her deep crimson, almost Victorian-esque dress. It extended down to her knees, poofing out somewhat. Underneath the dress was a light, ivory-coloured, webbed skirt of a spider-web-like design. The sleeves of the dress were elbow-length, and like her mother's (although the cut was not nearly as dramatic), it had a sweetheart neckline. She wore an ivory choker with a black, gothic adornment in the middle of it. Her nails were painted black. Her shoes were ivory, heeled combat boots, with small, swirled hints of black.

Wednesday could not help but notice the awkwardness of their situation. Not to mention, her brother had been making eyes at someone likely closer in age to his own older sister. She didn't find the ten-year-old's small infatuation sweet. She found it disturbing.

"So, your mother and my father had sex." Wednesday broke the silence.

Pugsley broke his eternal gaze at Scarlett and stared at his sister, embarrassed. _"Wednesday."_

"Well, they did. Albeit twenty-two years ago." Wednesday replied, nonchalant.

"They did." Scarlett replied. "I'm sorry about how my mother acted." She apologized. "She was like this even before Alistair. I won't try to make excuses. I promise, I'm normal." She laughed.

Wednesday stood from her chair, potentially staring into Scarlett's soul. "Then you won't fit in here."

Pugsley shook his head. "Don't worry, Scarlett. You're not normal."

Scarlett smiled, half-way. "Thanks." Thankfully, it came out as less of a question than it sounded in her head. She turned to Wednesday. "What do you guys like to do for fun?"

Pugsley practically leapt out of his chair. "Why? Do you want to play?"

Scarlett laughed.

Pugsley would have been tortured willingly to hear her laugh again.

"That depends on what we're playing." Scarlett replied.

Wednesday nodded once. "Fair enough." She decided.

"For fun, Wednesday and I do all kinds of things. Sometimes we'll sabotage family get-togethers, or blow things up with dynamite, or try to poison our butler."

Scarlett's eyes enlarged as she suppressed a gulp.

Noticing this, Pugsley raised an _assuring_ hand. "Don't worry, he's a good sport about it." He paused, going over a mental checklist to see if he had missed much (if anything at all). "A lot of the time, Wednesday and I try to kill each other."

"Oh?" Scarlett seemed intrigued.

Wednesday scoffed. "What he means is that I try to kill him and he runs away. Every time he's tried to kill me, he has never come close to succeeding. I've come close many times." She sighed, disappointment in her breath and eyed her brother. "He's still here."

Pugsley looked down. "Sorry."

Wednesday shook her head, not in the mood. "Thus, I have to keep trying." She explained. "One of our favourite games involves the electric chair in the attic that father and his brother used to play with."

"Oh." Scarlett gracefully removed herself from the couch. She then remembered she had not been introduced to an uncle. "Your father has a brother?"

Wednesday and Pugsley shared a look of understanding for one another, and also unease.

Wednesday turned back to Scarlett. _"Had."_

"He still _has_ one." Pugsley corrected her.

"Really? Where is he?" Wednesday questioned.

She never did quite understand that story. She knew the message her father was trying to impart, she had heard it from his own guilty lips often enough. _Never let anything, especially a thing like jealousy, come between you and your sibling._ That was understandable, to a degree.

What was not, was her father's terrible guilt. Yes, she agreed that he had a part in him leaving but she didn't believe in such thing as driving a person off. Ultimately, he left of his own accord. And he never returned to talk it out. And now, every month they had to have a séance to try to resurrect him from the death of his and their father's innocence. But it was never going to come back. And neither was he.

Pugsley went quiet. "I don't know."

Truth be told, Pugsley liked the idea of having an uncle. He wished he had seen him more for the first few years of his life but he was still a child. There was still hope, and maybe… maybe he could find someone he could relate to.

His friend, Raymond was exactly like his father. Wednesday was Morticia. Who was he?

"I'm sorry I asked." Scarlett told them both, remorseful. "What do you want to play?"

Wednesday and Pugsley again, shared an expression. This time, however, it was of pure exuberance.

"The game that goes with the electric chair in the attic," Wednesday began to explain, leading both her younger brother and Scarlett out of the living room and up the stairs. "It's called, _Is There a God?_ "

….

Máma had cooked a fantastic meal of roast mongoose, sheep eye salad, bloodberries and red wine (ever the grandmother when it came to Pugsley and Wednesday, she even spiked their originally non-alcoholic drinks for them).

Everyone sat, and ate the fantastic meal… but it was nay impossible to talk with Regina and Scarlett.

The children did not have as much trouble as the adults did; not usually. However, with the tension in the room, hotter than the fresh-out-of-the-oven roast mongoose between the older group, they thought it best to stay quiet for the most part.

"I admit it, I killed one of the wild ones." Esmeralda made her attempt at breaking the stiffness in the room.

Everyone stared at her, saying nothing.

" _What?"_ Esmeralda asked, defensively. "I was told by a highly credible source that it would taste gamier."

"Would you care to share who that source was?" Gomez asked, trying to work with her.

Esmeralda laughed, a tad nervously and shook her head. "No I would not." She took a bite of her salad.

"No credible source?" Gomez teased, knowing the truth.

"Bite me." Máma jokingly rolled her eyes.

"Thank you, Máma, but I'll stick to the mongoose." Gomez bit into it.

"Very funny, charmer. Did I mention this was the last time I cooked for your ass?"

"You've had much wine, Máma." Morticia commented.

"Oh, relax, _Tish_." Regina sipped her drink, clinking cups with Esmeralda. "The old broad can hold plenty of alcohol." She looked at Esmeralda. "Can't you?"

"Of course I can!" Máma raised her glass. She then put an arm around Regina's neck. _"I like her."_

"She's hit the bottle." Morticia confirmed.

"Or maybe she just likes me?" Regina suggested. "Oh, I'm sorry. She can't. I forgot she belongs to- "

"Mother, _please._ " Scarlett interrupted her. "It seems Ms. Máma isn't the only one who's had a bit too much tonight."

Regina did not resume her sentence, merely shook her head at her daughter.

Scarlett sighed.

But from across the table, she noticed Pugsley, smiling at her.

"Tish?" Gomez hadn't talked to her since that meeting earlier this morning, which could have -to say the least- gone better.

"Yes?" Morticia almost met his eyes, but not quite.

Something was off.

Not wishing to bring it before the entire family and make whatever was troubling her (likely, he knew what it was) worse, he tried to make the situation better by other means.

He held a bloodberry in his hand. "Bloodberries." The word was said, suggestively, paired with an adoring gaze.

"Two nights ago…" Morticia reminisced. Despite being troubled, could never ignore that. Or her husband. "That was all we ate."

Hopefully bringing her out of whatever it was for the time being, Gomez continued. He kissed her hand, looking at her and seeing only her. "Well, that wasn't _all_ we ate."

" _Gomez…"_ Morticia almost smiled, allowing him to pull her closer to him, slowly and pop a berry in her mouth.

In unison, both Pugsley and Wednesday pushed their fruit bowls arm's length away, eying each other painfully.

Intoxication did not allow Esmeralda to ignore this change in her grandchildren. "You two used to love bloodberries. What happened?"

Wednesday and Pugsley looked back at their parents.

Gomez fed her another berry and kissed her.

Wednesday spoke up, gesturing to her mother and father with her head. "That happened."

Gomez and his darling one now had their glasses crossed over one another, going in for another, passionate kiss.

"Gomez?" Regina's harder voice broke the moment.

"Yes?" Gomez turned, as did Morticia.

"I think I'll retire early." She then thanked Esmeralda for the meal and continued speaking to Gomez. "I'm exhausted."

Morticia's ears opened up at Regina's words.

"And terribly… sore. I need rest." She looked at both of them before fixating her eyes on Mr. Addams again. "And you've been so, very kind as to take care of me." Her eyes fluttered. "Would you check on me before bed? I'll be terribly heartbroken if you don't." She smiled. "On account that I don't like… being alone."

Morticia's eyes desperately wanted to bulge out of her head at the audacity of this woman, but they stayed in their place.

Scarlett continued eating, not saying anything.

Pugsley continued staring, not blinking.

However, Mrs. Addams' eyes wanted to pop out of their sockets at her husband's response.

"I…" Gomez nodded. "I'll see what I can do."

At this, Regina smiled and walked off to bed.

Dinner finished abruptly; and silently.

...

"Wednesday?" A spread-against-the wall Pugsley asked as she placed the red, shining apple atop his head.

"Yes?" Wednesday answered.

"You have really good aim- "

"I'm aware." Wednesday said as she walked to the back of the room, turning to face Pugsley with the apple on his head, knives in hand.

"So why can't you ever hit me in this game?" Pugsley inquired. Then quickly added, "Not that I want you to." Quietly.

Wednesday sighed. "What's the first rule of Deception?"

"Don't flinch?" Pugsley guessed.

"That's the second rule. The first rule is: _don't ask questions_."

"Oh. Sorry, I forgot."

"Yes. I know. Now, stop talking." Wednesday then handed four knives to Scarlett.

Wednesday threw the first knife. It landed less than a centimeter away from the young boy's ear. Just a wee bit closer and blood would have been shed.

"Ah!" Pugsley yelled. "I flinched." He confessed, afraid.

"I know." Wednesday replied and aimed another knife.

Scarlett's voice stopped her from throwing it. "Why is it called Deception?" She all but whispered.

"Because it is." Wednesday explained, steadying her hand. "Pugsley is convinced that we're aiming the knives at the apple."

"We're not?" Scarlett questioned.

"No." Wednesday answered. "We're aiming them at him."

Throwing it, this time, it landed under his arm, through his hanging shirt sleeve.

Pugsley did not flinch. He almost peed.

"You're getting good at this." He peeped.

"Don't speak." Wednesday commanded.

Pugsley said nothing more.

Soon, it was Scarlett's turn. But she assumed her idea was better.

She walked over, took the apple off of Pugsley's head and placed it in his mouth. Then, she walked back to the throwing area and aimed her knife.

Wednesday said nothing but her suspicion and anger at the child was growing. This was _her_ game, this was _her_ form of torture, these were _her_ knives, this was _her_ house… this was _her brother_.

"Are you scared?" Scarlett asked him.

Pugsley gave a nod.

Scarlett threw the knife, and it landed about an inch away from his face. "Of me?"

A shake.

"Good. I don't want you to be scared of me." She paused. "Do you?"

Silence.

….

"And all through _Is There a God?_ , she kept trying to take the lever from me as though I didn't know what I was doing." Wednesday was voicing her frustrations to her brother that night as she sat atop his dark bedsheets.

Pugsley buttoned up his grey pajama shirt. "No she didn't." He defended, watching his sister through his brown, cracked, dust-covered mirror.

"How would you know?" Wednesday asked as she took out her last braid and began brushing her hair. It looked so much like her mother's when brushed out. "You were too busy having one thousand volts of electricity coursing through your body at warp speed."

"Yea." Pugsley remembered, having finished buttoning his shirt. "Wow." He remarked as he looked at his sister through the mirror, then turning to face her.

"What?" Wednesday asked.

"You look like mother." He stated.

"Oh." Wednesday had heard this from many people. But not her brother, until now.

"That's a good thing."

"Obviously." Wednesday said.

"You act like her sometimes, too." Pugsley added. "You know, when you're not trying to burn a military camp ID number into my arm and ship me off to Eritrea."

" _Now_ I'm worried." Wednesday said, ignoring his true statement about her past crimes against him. Or favours, depending on what kind of day they were having.

"Why?" Pugsley questioned, sitting on the bed with her.

"Does that mean I have to take French next year?" Wednesday's face contorted (one of the rare occurrences where she showed any emotion).

Pugsley laughed.

"I'm serious."

He stopped laughing, afraid for his sister.

"Stupid school is forcing me to take a language next year."

"That's ridiculous!" Pugsley remarked. "This is America, land of the free, land of the people who actively avoid learning about other cultures."

Wednesday sighed. "Well, you know how _diverse_ we are."

Pugsley appeared rather confused. "What do you mean?"

Sometimes Wednesday wondered where her brother's brains were. "Father is _Spanish_ , Pugsley."

Pugsley looked as though his entire life has been a lie. "Wait; what?"

"You're not serious." Wednesday put a hand to her forehead, trying to ward off the oncoming headache at her younger sibling's stupidity.

"You're kidding." Pugsley appeared dazedly awestruck.

"No." Wednesday was completely over existing as a human (and/or any other lifeform, for that matter) at this point. "It wasn't a secret. The fact that our father is Spanish and- I'm going to stop right there. Are you ready for another bomb? It's going to drop worse than Hiroshima." She said this with no emotion other than the edge of sarcasm, but she was so tired and this was killing her… and not in the way she would have liked. "He's Italian, too." She said. "Not as much as he is Spanish but, let's just put all of the cards on the table."

Pugsley waved a dismissive hand. "Yea, but I knew that."

"But…?" Wednesday massaged her temples but it wasn't working. _Don't ask questions, it hurts too much._ She thought. "You drank Máma's juice at dinner, didn't you?"

"Yea. She gave us juice in the wine glasses. Why- "

"You idiot. She spiked them." She rolled her eyes. "No wonder you're like this. God, you're usually never this dumb."

"I thought there was no God?"

"It's called _Is There a God_ , not _There Is No God_ \- it doesn't matter." She shook her head. "Can we try to focus on the real issue?"

"That my grandmother tried to poison me?"

"No." Wednesday rolled her eyes. "My issue. If I have to take French, I won't understand all of it. That means that mother is going to come in and help me with my homework. Mother is always with father, and when she _helps me with my homework_ , I won't really get any homework done. Worst of all, I'll have them necking against the armchair I'm trying to do my work in."

"That sucks." Pugsley said. "But you don't have to take French. You could just take Spanish and have father help you. It isn't like mother's hormones got hit too hard with the crazy stick.""I can't take Spanish. I met the teacher. Senora Martinez is a hopeless romantic and likes to devote a unit to Valentine's Day. Try getting through that. Wacked hormones or not, the minute he looks at her and says _mi reina_ …"

"You'll want to _Valentine's Die_?"

"Don't." Wednesday grimaced. "But yes."

"Back to French?"

"Yes. I'm going to go call the school and explain my situation."

"It's ten at night."

"They have an emergency line." Wednesday then rubbed her tired eyes and began to walk out of her brother's bedroom.

"I still love them." Pugsley said. "Just remember, we could grow up with Raymond's parents."

"True." Wednesday paused. "Or my math teacher's." She decided.

"What happened to her?" Pugsley asked as he crawled into bed.

"Her mother shot her father in cold blood, then stole a cop car. Her father was an alcoholic." Wednesday explained.

"Oh."

" _And_ , they had sex all the time." Wednesday added.

Pugsley winced. _"Wednesday!"_

"Well, they did." Wednesday paused. "Mrs. Andrews sees her therapist on Mondays and Thursdays."

"Goodnight, Wednesday." Pugsley bade his sister as she began to close his door.

"Goodnight." Wednesday said back. "Don't die in your sleep." She shut off the light.

"Okay." Pugsley's eyes began to close.

"I'm the only one who's aloud to make you do that."

His eyes shot open.

"And I'd much prefer you to be awake." She paused. "Usually." She smiled, satisfied she was going to keep him awake. "Goodnight."

Then, she shut the door.

….

Morticia sat, sideways, facing the door, on she and her amour's massive, luxury bed. It was a mattress, but with him, it was a bed. The gothic grey satin of the sheets was a deep contrast with her nightgown.

It was silk, long, sweeping the floor (when her feet did touch it) and formfitting. It was lowcut in a deep V-neck, and had silk, wide sleeves, extending down to her elbows.

Her hair, as dark as the sky outside their window, was pushed over her slender shoulder. Her black-painted toenails were invisible due to the length of her gown. Her makeup was still on; and of course, her wedding ring.

 _It was not the old man who vexed me. But his Evil Eye…_

All Mrs. Addams tried to concentrate on was The Tell-Tale Heart in her hands by her favourite writer, Edgar Allan Poe.

However, the harder she tried to concentrate on the events in the story; the more she focused on the events of the day. And the more she began to relate to Mr. Poe's insanity…

Everything was going wonderfully. Gomez was with her, and not- _don't say it. The woman has been through a trauma._ ** _Really? I'll show her trauma._** _Stop that! Now. The Tell-Tale Heart…_

 _So you see he would have been a very profound old man, indeed, to suspect that every night, just at twelve, I looked in upon him while he slept…_

The door opened with a slight creak.

Morticia looked up, not.

Gomez felt incredibly guilty. And he knew this would not be easy. His querida was stubborn, but so was he. He just wished he could tell her… no. He couldn't.

"Cara mia?" He carefully shut the door behind him.

At this, Morticia did look up at him. Then, she looked at the clock on the wall.

He was fifteen minutes later than usual, if indeed he ever did walk in alone at all.

Hair slicked back, black pajama bottoms, black slippers, and of course, his wedding ring… Morticia maintained her composure. All she wanted was answers. And him.

"How long will she be staying?" She asked.

Gomez cocked his head, smiling at her. He could read her too well. "Only for a week or so, Tish."

"Why didn't you talk to me today?" Morticia figured she had better just ask her questions.

It was the only way they would be answered.

Gomez stepped closer to her, and watched as she stiffened up. "Because, my dearest, I hardly saw you." He said, moving closer, then: "And it killed me. Not talking to you, not touching you… that was torture, mi encantadora."

Morticia was hard to get through when hurt or angered. Her stubborn, icy resolve showed itself but she hated every second of it. "Why didn't you see me?"

"I was…" Gomez didn't want to hurt her by telling her he was unwillingly caught in Regina's bloody talons, but she knew it. "I had to show our new guest around the house." He explained, unenthusiastically and removed his shoes.

Morticia looked him down and up, eyes stopping at the top.

"You're wearing a red robe."

"Querida, I always…" Gomez sat on the bed with her, discarding his robe. He took her chin, gently in his hand.

Morticia slowly set down her book.

"I know that you're concerned because Regina is here." Gomez said.

Morticia's eyes instantly darted away. "What gave you that impression."

Lightly removing his hand, Gomez replied, guilt edging his voice: "Your attitude."

Morticia raised an eyebrow, upset. "My attitude?" She scoffed. "Well, I apologize if I don't become _best friends_ with your former lover."

"She was not my lover, we were just partners." Gomez put a caring hand on her leg.

"That makes it better." Morticia's black angel wings were dripping with sarcasm. "And anyway, she seems to think you were. You were something or you wouldn't have made that promise to her. I- I… don't, like this." Morticia finally admitted.

"Tish, my darling, I would be shattered if you thought for a second that I wanted her here." Gomez told her.

"I know." Morticia paused. "I don't think _you_ want _her_ here. I just… I would have liked you to ask me before you welcomed her into our home. You always ask me. And we don't get around to a decision until the next morning because we're so busy _making it_." Morticia looked into his eyes, hurt and a bit angered although her voice was calm. "But you didn't even look at me. You just, welcomed her in as if I weren't a part of the decision at all."

Gomez, heartbroken that he had hurt her demanded himself to make it right.

He took the book out of her hands, and set it far to the side. Seductively, he moved behind her, hands around her waist and mouth against her neck. "I know, cara mia." He admitted, ready to get on his knees to apologize if he needed to. "And I am terribly sorry that I didn't. Promise or not, I should have asked you. It was foolish, callous and completely reprehensible." He pressed harder against her, kissing her neck, and sensually moving his hands back and forth against her sides.

Completely in heaven, Morticia closed her eyes. "It was."

Gomez chuckled, then continuing with her neck, sucking it to leave a hickey.

"Mmm… it was completely…" She let out a blissful sigh. "Reprehensible."

Happy to have earned her forgiveness, and needing to earn more of it, he sucked the part of her neck with some dried blood on it, from the previous night.

"Ah... if your going to follow through on promises today," Morticia began. "Follow through with yesterday's."

"I'll do anything for you, my only." Gomez held her by the waist, running his fingers through her hair. "Tell me what it is, and I will do it without hesitation."

A smirk played on Morticia's lips. "I know."

Gomez could not help but let thoughts about how much he completely adored her drive him mad with passion.

Morticia leaned into him. "Take me to our dungeon."

Gomez kissed her head. "Yes, mistress." He replied.

Morticia flashed, then, a genuine smile, and her eyes fluttered open. "God, I love it when you call me that." She sighed. "Do it one more time and I won't be able to walk down the stairs."

Gomez released her and got off of the bed. He picked her up in his arms, then, bridal style (as always). "Who said you were walking?"

Before Morticia had time to formulate a response, amour's lips were hard against hers… and he was carrying her out the door, ready to spend a night with his black angel in their dungeon.

….

Pugsley opened the door to her bedroom (at least, for the time being) without a creak. He looked around the room and thought it sufficient for such a wonderful girl, deserving of only the finest forms of dust mites.

She was sleeping in what he assumed was her typical position: arms folded over her chest, flat on her back.

Pugsley smiled; even when sleeping, she was lovely.

Unable to sleep without saying one last thing to her, anything at all, Pugsley stepped merely an inch into the room, gazing at her with a spark in his eyes, and whispered: "Goodnight, Scarlett."


	4. The Face of Innocence

Chapter 3: The Face of Innocence

Fog, thick and as grey as the ashes in the trays down in the basement. The old ones that Gomez and his dear brother used to- what did it matter? Those ashes were collecting dust, and the trays along with them. Dust, layers upon layers - _twenty-three_ _years-_ , of dust; impenetrable dust, covered over those tens, possibly a hundred ash trays in which cigars and cigarettes had been callously thrown in the innocent days of their youth. But now that dust covered those days… the dust on the trays, in the mind and in the heart. Thick, impenetrable, layers of dust.

Much like the fog that fell over the Addams cemetery, and lied there, languorously, having no plans on leaving. Why would it? Unlike the dust (Or, similar to it, now…?) it, was welcome.

Skies, a single shade of grey, stretched as far as the town of Briarwood could see. However, the glorious thunder clouds -albethey having started out in the inner city- began to make their way home; looming over the Addams graveyard. The clouds, too, soon to express their mourning through a flood of tears. Though, they did not do so just yet. Everything grieves differently, and their black-clad brethren in grievance were not set to arrive until 6:0o pm.

The funeral for Cousin Cordelia was to be held at the Addams mansion (It was an honour, to have one's funeral held at the house of the heart of the family… usually.).

Three days had passed, since Regina and her daughter, Scarlett had arrived, half-dead at the doorstep. And Mrs. Blood had Mr. Addams at her beck and call (or had tried to do such a thing) from the moment he had so hesitantly agreed to allow her to stay in his and his querida's home.

At every opportunity the woman got, she asked him for something. Whether it was as simple as making her a hot cup of tea to showing her where the second-floor living room was, it was constant. When it seemed there was no end to her demands, there was… until they started up again.

And if only Gomez could explain to his darling one, his corazón, his amore, the one woman he cared about more than anything in this world and beyond, that he did not want to leave her to run rampant for Regina. He hated every moment of it. But he made a promise. He made a deal, long ago. And now… he had to follow through.

All he could do was try his best to make it up to his Tish after a day of seeing her so little. He promised her he would always look her in the eyes when he spoke to her. And he did, when he could. But now, there were rare occasions when he couldn't. He despised himself for it. But his Morticia didn't, never could. Not even if she knew, twenty-two years ago…

Preparations for Cousin Cordelia's funeral were to take the entire day, and indeed they did. Entirely black, everything (other than a few, small details, of course). Even her coffin (three million dollars of shining death-casing), was black.

Despite the fact that virtually the entire funeral was one colour, there was still much work to be done. That was an undeniable truth.

Wednesday was clothed in her favourite formal dress. It was, of course, black and somewhat formfitting. It had long sleeves that were longer at the wrists, swirling so it was not quite so dramatic. It was cut in a V-neck, and had gothic designs covering it.

It was Wednesday's job to see to the guest list and make sure that most of the Addams clan was still in attendance. She was to add two names to the list: _Regina Scarlett Blood._ She would do it; although she was unsure if she wanted to.

As of now, she stood in her bedroom mirror. Like her brother's, it was cracked in three places (Thing had done it as a present for each of their third birthdays). As she studied her reflection, she concentrated not, on her long braids. When she stopped focusing on them, she began to wonder if the reflection was truly her own. She was so much like... Pugsley had been right. She was turning into her mother. Or, was she already?

She couldn't look at herself anymore, it worried her too much. She loved her mother and would love to be like her but at the same time that was too much, too fast, and as she ran down the stairs, trying so hard to trip in her heels, she stopped to catch her breath. And paused. Was she already?

Pugsley buttoned up his coat. How could the rest of his family bare it? It was a bit chilly, due to the weather, and the mourning clouds rolling in. However, it was hot to him. The gene pool must have completely overflowed and not been bothered to be refilled between the two-year time interval between his sister's and his birth, as immunity to heat skipped him entirely.

The only one who showed any sign of struggle in the heat besides him was his mother. Not due to her elaborate, gothic dresses. It was due to her rare form of photosensitivity and that… Vitamin D deficiency, whatever that meant (he knew it had something to do with the sun, and why she had to be careful in it). And he did feel bad for her, his father always worried about her getting overheated… internally. He wasn't quite sure how that worked.

As he put on his black, lace-up boots, he had to do a doubletake. He could have sworn he forgot to put his socks on this morning! His pants were black, and his dress shirt was black. He even had a bow tie of the same colour. He did not know how he was going to manage to keep his suitcoat on but, he would try.

Pugsley was to make sure the décor was arranged in order looked presentable. He wished he had been in charge of food- but there was no food; he had to keep reminding himself. This was not a birthday party. This was a funeral.

Esmeralda dressed in her finest black skirts and heeled black boots. Her blue eyes stood out like icicles in a black sandstorm. Although it was summer, her wide shirt sleeves were elbow-length, and black, fingerless (apart from two holes for thumbs) fishnet gloves accompanied them. Her head (thick mess of hair, light brown and greying, curled somewhat for the party) was christened with a black hat, gothic adornments and a few feathers giving it a gloomy touch.

She spent the first three hours of her day on music with Lurch. Where would the orchestra be played? What would be played? What dance would ensue? Normally, this was Morticia's job but she was… _goddamit, where was she?_ Lurch was going to have to wait a minute; or several.

….

Gomez -the only thing keeping him going being his corazón- drowsily opened his eyes. Adoringly, he looked down at the sleeping gothic temptress in his arms. All night, he had held her.

Now, her head rested comfortably against his bare chest, and her long leg was draped, languidly over him. Her arms held onto him, as if in sleep, someone might try to steal one of them away from the other.

There was not a chance of that.

Seeing her so content, happy (or _unhappy_ , as he and his wife liked to call it) and brought to such a state of pleasure, even in sleep, was his nirvana.

Not wishing to disturb her, but unable to resist her; he moved a bit of stray hair out of her enchanting face, and let his fingers go through her hair, rubbing her head and hoping she could feel it in her sleep. Kissing her forehead, he continued.

She smiled. "Gomez…"

Still sleeping, but knowing she had felt it, Gomez caught her smile and began to stroke her cheek, gently caressing. Incapable of keeping his lips or hands off of her, he kissed her neck.

She stirred a bit, but did not awaken. "Mon cher…"

He continued, adoring her and knowing if she did wake up right now, it was going to be whilst he was showing her unending amounts of affection (as though it were not customary with the amorous pair).

As he did, Morticia's eyes fluttered open.

"Ah… good morning, mon amour." She let out a paradisal sigh. "How long have you been… doing this?"

"Since I awakened, three minutes ago." Gomez explained and moved a hand up, groping her breast.

Morticia's eyes widened and she let out a moan. "Mmm… keep doing it."

"What made you think I would stop?" Gomez asked as his hands and lips continued to explore her.

"Gomez…" Morticia sighed as he turned her over and sat up a bit, so she was in his lap but could still look at him sideways. She took a look at the clock on the wall, leaning into him. "I think we're behind on time."

It was noon.

Gomez shook his head, a charming smirk on his face. "Time?" He questioned and sat her up a bit, massaging her shoulders. "What is time? I've never believed such a word."

Her attempt at trying to concentrate was slowly fading from her mind. His hands on her like this could make her kill a man. "Gomez…"

"Time, mi encantadora, is nonexistent. It is but a figment of our imaginations. We have created it in order to function properly as a society. Fortunately for us, we never did fit in with society." Gomez said and his hands traveled to her neck. "It was once said, _If we pay no attention to time, time does not exist._ " He explained. "All that exists," he told her, "is this, and us, mi hermosa diosa. Nothing else."

Morticia was won over, completely. All thoughts of time, truly abandoned.

Time itself, for now, truly abandoned.

"I'm alright with that." She breathed out.

"Is it because I'm doing this?" Gomez asked, laughing.

Morticia nodded. "Yes."

"I will take it." Gomez kissed her cheek. "I'll take it, I'll take everything." He sounded like a puppy, reveling in attention from its master but he didn't care. He worshipped her completely. "God, I adore you…" He wrapped his arms around her waist then and kissed her lips, full of intense passion. "I will never stop telling you that. Ever."

"I love you." Morticia kissed him again, arms around his neck. "Thank you."

"What have I done to deserve that?" Gomez inquired.

Morticia replied, "What haven't you done? You have been the best to me, for me… I know this woman is putting this house through the wringer right now but…" She looked into his eyes. "That does not change the past twenty-one years, or the fact that they have been the best years of my life."

"Oh, Tish…" Gomez smiled. "I would not trade these last twenty-one years with you for anything in the world. You are my everything, cara mia. I would be, _nothing_ without you."

"And I without you… mon diable." Morticia leaned in, then; the kiss they shared, even more passionate than the last.

Tongues, dancing in one another's mouths; neither one of them heard the knock at the door.

Silently, the door opened.

Máma walked into the room, ready to grill her daughter. The funeral was in six hours. What could she possibly be doing? Sleeping in? On a day like this?

"Morticia, I don't know where- _oh god!_ " Esmeralda had walked into a lighter area and saw nothing she had wanted to see. As a knee-jerk reaction, she averted her eyes.

Morticia quickly covered up her exposed upper half, still held tight in her husband's arms.

"What is it with you two?" Esmeralda asked, eyes no longer averted. "I cannot walk into a room without fear that I'll get flashbacks from that first time I walked in."

"Máma- " Morticia was cut off.

"I can still remember it. You weren't even married. Car breaks down and we thought that we could entrust you two to be alone together for the night in a hotel. I walk into the room the next morning and _surprise!_ " She remembered. "And all you could find to wear to meet me at the door was that… short, black lingerie dress with the spikes on the breasts- "

"Alright, Máma." Morticia had heard this story from her mother's perspective on several occasions, and did not wish to hear it again. "You did just walk in to _our_ bedroom."

"I forgot that your hormones were made to be exact copies of Thumper's." Máma grimaced.

"You seemed to have had a stressful morning." Gomez chimed in.

"And who is Thumper?" Morticia asked, not understanding her mother's rabbit reference (Despite her distaste for the movie, Esmeralda did watch it as she heard the main character's mother was brutally murdered. She was lied to. That was milder than the sauce they used on these weird things called chicken wings.).

"Thumper? Bobby the deer's stupid little friend?"

Gomez and Morticia shared a look of both confusion, and concern.

Esmeralda sighed. She had forgotten that there was no way she or Charles would have allowed Morticia to watch something so poisoning for the mind growing up.

"Never mind." She said. "You two are hosting Cousin Cordelia's funeral. It is noon. Get out of bed and get downstairs." Máma then turned to Morticia. "After you get ready, meet with Lurch in the ballroom about the music."

Gomez caressed Morticia's cheek. "Of course, that duty has been left to you my dearest." He said. "You're the only one who could do it."

"Merci, mon amour." Morticia smiled at his compliment. "You always said I had a way with music."

"You have a way with everything, cara mia." Gomez told her. "You're incredible."

"So are you." Morticia's eyes flared with suggestion. "Our tango…"

"That leg up over my shoulder…"

Morticia wrapped her arms around his neck. "That knife in your mouth…"

Gomez leaned in and kissed her passionately.

Both, seemingly, having forgotten that Esmeralda was there.

"I'm surprised you two don't have more kids." She said, reminding the pair of her presence.

" _Máma."_ Morticia leaned into her husband, tired. "We'll be there shortly, Máma."

"You had better be." Máma threatened. "This thing starts at six. We need all hands on deck." She explained. "We haven't hosted funeral since Grandpa Terse died. And I don't…" She went a bit quiet. It did not last. "I don't want to have to explain -yet again- to an eight-year-old boy why father is handcuffed to the bed and why _not_ to call the police!"

Gomez remembered that one, still; as did his wife. Their time was magical, their son's was… not.

However, their magical time caused them to share a passionately paradisal look with one another, locking each other in a fervent stare.

Gomez kissed her hand, and slowly began to devour her fingers.

"Of course, Máma." Morticia barely looked up at her, waiting for her husband to work his way to her inner wrist, and pull her closer, and eat her alive.

Esmeralda then shook her head, knowing if she tried to say anything more to her daughter, it would not go in one ear; let alone go out the other.

Comprehending this, she hurried out the door and shut it behind her. The last thing she wished to do was stay in there and witness Thumper during mating season.

Neither one of the lovers noticed Esmeralda leave as they began to consume each other whole; Gomez, arms wrapped tightly around his querida's waist and hers, wrapped around his neck and pressed against his chest.

Rocking as they were, to the steady rhythm of their simultaneously beating hearts; neither was too quick to remove themselves from their romantic position, nor travel back to a world in which time existed.

But they were going to have to sooner or later, so Morticia stole a glance at the clock on the wall again.

12:20 pm.

"Mon cher?" Morticia's captivating eyes met his.

"What did I say in my soliloquy about time?" He questioned.

Morticia smirked. "Your charm drives a hard bargain." She replied. She then rested her head against him for a moment and he stroked her hair. "Why did Cousin Cordelia have to die this week?"

Gomez laughed.

Morticia sighed, gracefully maneuvering to sit on the edge of the bed. "I have to take a shower."

Gomez followed her to it and looked her eyes, raising his eyebrows. "As do I."

"Oh." Morticia knew exactly what he wanted, and what she needed. But playing games with him was her forte, and she quite enjoyed doing it. "Well," She seductively moved off of the bed and stood. "I should probably go first." She teased, knowing there would be no _first_ anyone.

"Please, Tish." Gomez shook his head, perceiving what she was up to and standing as well. "We haven't done this in four days."

Morticia's eyes leveled. "Mmm. What makes you think we're doing anything?"

"This does." With his words, Gomez picked up his wife and held her over her shoulder.

"Gomez!" Morticia gasped, half-laughing. She struggled, slightly but gave up.

"I should have done this three minutes ago." Gomez grinned and squeezed her ass.

Morticia bit her lip as her husband then made his way to the bathroom. "You haven't picked me up like this in two weeks."

Gomez knew if she couldn't see him, she would toy with him using her words. It was becoming much harder to walk. "Keep it up." He said. "I'm going to end up taking you in the middle of the floor."

" _Please."_ Morticia's voice dripped with sensuality.

Gomez groaned. "You're killing me."

Morticia grinned. "I try."

By now -and with great difficulty to keep himself intact- Gomez had reached their bedroom's private bathroom.

Black walls the colour of the night that passed to quickly, and grey and black marble sinks. It was large; the funeral for Cousin Cordelia could have taken place just in that room alone.

The shower was spacious, with glass doors and walls, and a floor that -while still black- were resistant to much of the water. They had been specially made in Paris, to be non-slippery (for what Gomez and Morticia got up to in there, they would have to be).

There was a black marble, jacuzzi tub next to the shower and a medium-sized window -covered by grey, silk, gothic curtains- behind it. Of course, at night, candles were often placed around the tub. Candles lit, not to be blown out for hours.

Gomez set her down once they entered the shower stall.

Neither needed to undress, as neither had been clothed to begin with.

"Cara mia…" Gomez pulled her close to him, taking everything that was his beautiful black angel, in.

Morticia smiled, shaking her head. "We are going to be _very_ late for the funeral preparations."

"We were supposed to get ready at noon, correct?" Gomez asked, caressing her cheek.

"Oui." Morticia replied.

Gomez kissed her. "It's noon somewhere."

"Mon beau diable…" Morticia pushed him against the shower wall, then, her tongue meeting with his.

And as the two lovers began their romantic decent back into a world without time, Gomez used his last coherent thought to turn on the water.

….

Ever since the day had begun, all Wednesday and Pugsley had heard was the sultry yet hard voice of Ms. Blood calling out for Gomez.

Whether it be to request he help her get ready for the funeral, he show her around the house some more, or he… just talk to her, it was something.

But of course, nothing could be done about any of Regina's _predicaments_ -however deluded and/or arbitrary they may have been- as Mr. Addams had been _sleeping in_ , along with his wife.

Wednesday eyed her brother, curiously as he sat in the small, brown, wooden stool in the corner of her bedroom.

He was staring… the way he stared at Scarlett, at absolutely nothing, really. Unless he now had an infatuation with paintings of their Great Aunt Calpurnia (which would have been even more disturbing).

"Do you want to be alone with that painting?" Wednesday raised an eyebrow.

Pugsley snapped out of his vampire-obsessed, trancelike state. "What painting?" He asked.

Wednesday sighed. "The one you've been making eyes at for the past five minutes." She said. "All you've been doing is staring off in the direction of that painting and looking at it as though you want it to bear your children." She paused. "And that was our great aunt."

" _Eww."_ Pugsley's face contorted. He then looked back up at the painting. "Sorry, Aunt Calpurnia."

"It might be incest, but she's still better for you than who you're really thinking about." Wednesday stated.

" _Hey- "_

"Also, your fly is down." She interrupted.

" _What?"_ Pugsley looked down, worried. _What if Scarlett sees? I mean- what if… ah!_ ** _Focus, our fly is down!_** _Is there fly on these pants? Wednesday!_

"Did you check on the decorations?" Wednesday questioned.

"Yea." Pugsley replied.

"And?"

"And they're there." He said.

"That isn't what I meant." Wednesday told him. "If they aren't all black, perfect and in order then Cousin Cordelia's going to rise from the dead and kidnap you to take her place."

Pugsley looked afraid. "She is?"

"She is." Wednesday's monotone voice convinced him. "The deceased do that if angered. Because they're dead, they can get away with it." She then went on to explain, "It happened to Jeremy Rapold."

"Who's Jeremy Rapold?" Pugsley asked.

Wednesday was expressionless. "Exactly."

Pugsley's face was white. "I have to make sure these are perfect." He nodded to himself.

"I would look at the guest list, as well." Wednesday flashed a devious smiled, inwardly. "Make sure Regina and Scarlett's names are added to it."

Pugsley was going to comply with her request, later after his checking out the decorations. However, his minimal amount of logicality stopped him. "But isn't that your job?"

Wednesday crossed her arms. "What's the first rule of Deception?"

Pugsley was befuddled. "We're not playing Deception."

"Not to you." Wednesday said, quietly. "Don't ask questions." She added next, "Besides, I already did my job."

"Oh, okay." Pugsley shrugged. "The guest list is in the kitchen. Right?"

Wednesday couldn't believe how naïve her brother was. He hadn't even asked what her job was, if not that. But this was what worried her, his naïveté. He was susceptible to… what _wasn't_ he susceptible to? She was alright with his suffering at her hands, but at someone else's… no. Absolutely not.

"Yes." Wednesday responded. She looked him up and down. "Did you pick out your outfit?"

"Uh-huh." Pugsley answered her question. "Usually father helps but last night he wasn't around and I wasn't about to walk in to something looking for him."

"Oh." Wednesday paused. "That makes sense. You don't look half-dead. Father could have helped you with that."

Pugsley seemed disheartened. "Really? Is it the bowtie? I knew I should have gone with grey!"

Wednesday was growing more concerned with each utterance from her brother. Normally, he wouldn't have cared too much about her insult. Or, he would have questioned her attitude as all-black was the way to go for an Addams funeral. But, now- he was trying to impress _her_.

"No, Pugsley your tie is fine." Wednesday said.

Pugsley calmed down a bit. "So, why do you think the family asked us to host Cousin Cordelia's funeral? I mean, it isn't like we knew her that well."

"It goes back to hundreds of years ago. Our house is where the family fortune is, where all of the original Addams books are. We live in the original estate, and we're descendants of the first two Addams'." Wednesday explained. "In technical terms, we're the modern heart of the family. Having it here is more of an esteem thing, I suppose." She then added, "That and we have the cemetery right in our backyard."

"Well that was…" Pugsley thought for a moment. "blunt." He decided.

"It was the truth."

Pugsley nodded. "Let's just hope this isn't a repeat of Grandpa Terse's funeral."

"It isn't the funeral's fault that your stupid eight-year-old brain decided to walk into mother and father's bedroom." Wednesday stated. "You could have easily asked Máma when the eulogy started, originally."

Pugsley couldn't even argue. He had been unwise -to say the least- in that regard. Being eight at the time truly was his only defense. "Were you there when she had to explain to me what I saw so I didn't call the cops?"

"Yes." Wednesday answered. "I remember her face. She looked as though she had been the one to walk in. And then, she looked at you and tried to give some kind of an explanation."

"Yea." Pugsley remembered. "What did she say, again?"

Quoting her grandmother yet straight-faced in doing so, Wednesday responded: "Well, son… your father, is… he's playing a game." In explanation, she continued. "To which you responded: _With the criminals?_ And Máma had this half-traumatized, half-disgusted look on her face and said, sadly: With… with your mother, Pugsley."

"Oh yea, now I remember." Pugsley recalled.

"You went on to say, confused: _Mother's a criminal?_ " Wednesday sighed. "And Máma replied: Pugsley, there are no criminals."

"Oh." Pugsley acted out his part in the memory.

"Don't call the police." Wednesday kept it up. "Your father is fine. Don't tell anyone about this, alright?"

"But I thought he was playing a game. Shouldn't I go get him and tell him- "

"No! Just go. They're going to start reading the eulogy now. I… I've got to go take care of a few things. You stay down here and listen to the eulogy."

Pugsley sighed. "Máma really seemed traumatized."

"I don't know why. Her own spells consist of freshly plucked lizards eyes and the faintly beating hearts of unborn monkeys." _Yet this is traumatizing._ Wednesday thought.

"I should make her a nice card for Mother's Day." Pugsley decided.

"Who?"

"Máma." Pugsley told her.

"That's fair." Wednesday concurred.

"So, back to the subject of pointing out each other's flaws." Pugsley redirected, on account of her calling out his staring at her painting. "You haven't looked in the mirror at all and we've been talking for twenty minutes."

"I don't, usually." This was not a topic Wednesday wished to discuss.

"I know but it's like you avoided yourself." Pugsley elucidated.

"I didn't avoid myself." Wednesday's verbal wall of defense was as thick as the looking glass she refused to set eyes her eyes on.

"If I looked like father, I'd be looking at myself all of the time." Pugsley tried his hand at a compliment.

Wednesday's eyes cast sideways. "Well, maybe-" She said nothing.

She loved her mother. She admitted, yes, she would kill to be like her. Her mother was intelligent, and enchanting, and had this… aura.

But right now? As in, present day? Wednesday was unsure if she was ready for that. Being her mother meant a few things she didn't want (marriage, French, long dresses, slight animation, this weird thing people call happiness).

She liked being herself, and her parents loved her just as she was. It seemed that the only one having trouble differentiating between looking like her mother with similar characteristics and _being_ her mother, was her.

Was it age? Was this a normal occurrence? If it was normal, she would willingly gut herself with a spork.

"What?" Pugsley persisted. "You can tell me." He expressed. "Even if I wanted to blab to someone, I couldn't. I'm too afraid."

Wednesday cocked her head, but still she admitted nothing. "No. It isn't you I'm worried about." Quickly, she changed the subject. "Pugsley?"

"Yes?"

"I know you weren't imagining Aunt Calpurnia when you were staring at her." She said.

Pugsley gulped. "Oh?"

"They're called bloodsuckers for a reason, Pugsley." Wednesday figured she would try to warn him again, before she couldn't any longer. "I've seen the way you look at her. And I've also seen the way she looks at you."

Knock, knock.

" _Come in."_ Wednesday briefly broke her speech to her brother in order to give whom she presumed was either their mother or father, permission to enter. "She may look like a black rose, but her first name is- Scarlett."

"Am I interrupting something?" Scarlett stood in the doorway, hands folded, dressed for Cousin Cordelia's funeral.

Her black, gothic dress extended down to her ankles in the back, but only to her knees in the front. It was cut in a sweetheart neckline, and its long sleeves were lace. It tied with black laces in the back. Her shoes were black, heeled boots, and her nails matched her ensemble. She wore a velvet, black choker. Her hair was curled for the occasion.

" _Wow."_ Pugsley was stunned. He had never seen something so beautiful in all of his ten years of life.

Scarlett would have blushed, had she the internal bodily capabilities. "I guess I'm not, then." She smiled.

She was breathtaking.

Lovely, to Pugsley.

Deadly, to his elder sister.

"Wednesday?" Scarlett turned her attention toward her.

"Yes?" Wednesday remained completely calm. She had to.

"Your grandmother, Ms. Máma?"

"I know who my grandmother is." She replied.

Scarlett looked down, somewhat embarrassed. "Right. Sorry." She apologized. "She requests your presence in the ballroom."

Wednesday raised her eyebrow.

"I'm just the messenger." Scarlett held up her hands.

Pugsley stared, transfixed.

"I wish I grew up with a ballroom in my house." Scarlett laughed.

Pugsley did as well.

Wednesday remained silent. "What does she want?"

Scarlett stopped laughing. "I'm not sure. Perhaps you should go ask her."

Wednesday looked the girl up and down. "Perhaps I should."

She walked out of her bedroom then, not breaking her intense stare at the perceived disingenuous black rose; and shut the door.

Scarlett, now alone with Pugsley, sighed. "I'm glad you like the dress."

Pugsley appeared hopeful. "Really?"

"Yes. It's new. My mother just bought it yesterday." Scarlett replied.

"Oh." Pugsley nodded. "With what money?" He then realized how that question sounded and instantly felt awful about it. "Sorry. That isn't what I- "

"No. It's okay." Scarlett shifted on her heels. "I don't know. We came here with nothing and now my mother has about three new dresses. I think…" She played with her hands. "I think someone from your family gave us money."

"Well, that's okay." Pugsley stood up. "I mean everyone goes through hard times. My family always tries to help people."

Scarlett smiled. "They're very nice. And your parents are very sweet." She added, "And your mother is taking this very well."

Pugsley concurred. "Yea. Mother's really good at… everything."

Scarlett sighed, looking into Pugsley's light brown eyes. "I wish I was good at everything."

Pugsley knew exactly what to say this time, because it was what he felt. "You are."

….

Wednesday had walked along the downward descent of the steep, endless staircases for what must have been an eternity. It felt like it, anyway. But perhaps that was her nerves (had she any points in her body that could be classified as such).

She walked through the darkened, historic hallways.

Barren, were some spots on the walls while on others, hung painted portraits of family members (most, deceased since at least 1706). The walls were old, with the wallpaper and its fading colour (albeit dark, gothic, close to brown) and their cobwebbed corners. But they told fascinating tales (perhaps one day, someone outside of the Addams clan would be brave enough to listen to them).

The floors were hard wood, and the closest colour to black that there was, of natural wood. While they didn't shine, they didn't fade to nothing under layers of dust, either. Extravagantly (as there was nothing simple about the mansion, down to the very foundation of it), they stayed as they were. No one could see themselves in them, but no one wanted to, anyway. They would have rather seen the history, the magnificently macabre past, within them.

"Máma!" Wednesday called. She had finally turned the corner and reached the ballroom; the grand double doors, shutting behind her upon entering.

The ballroom was massive. Its walls were also windows to the Addams cemetery, perfect on rainy days. Between the walls were thin, black arches, leading up to the ceiling.

The magnificent ceiling was out of a gothic painting; black designs covering its entirety, different types of its shade connected in paint or glass to create one magnificent masterpiece. But of course, it too, was seeing its elder years. And that was exactly how the Addams' liked it.

Even the floors were intricate. Their pattern was most unusual, with a mix of black and other dark or slightly faded colours, designed in diamond shapes to create a pattern across the floor (of which was perfect for dancing in its entirety; but of course, it would have to be in a ballroom).

"What?" Esmeralda barely turned around.

She was in the middle of working with Lurch and Thing, desperately trying to find a place for the open bar. She thought the entire idea of it was ridiculous but that was Cousin Cordelia: requesting an open bar at her funeral.

She moved her outstretched hand to the right. "I suppose we could have it there."

Lurch groaned.

Esmeralda shook her head. "No, we'd better not. People would be bumping into it right and…" She paused, realizing where the thing would hypothetically be placed. "Right."

Thing drooped.

"Pick yourself up." Esmeralda ordered. "Believe me, it isn't like I enjoy this. Now, if we- _oh, Wednesday!_ " As she had moved her hand to the left, widely, she smacked her granddaughter square in the face.

Wednesday took a half a moment or so to recover from the shock. She shook her head. "I'm here." She said.

" _I see that."_ Máma put a hand to her cheek. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." Wednesday replied.

"Good." Máma abruptly took her hand of off the child's cheek and got back to work. "Now get out of my way, we have funeral planning to carry on with."

Wednesday stepped before her grandmother, provoking a great sigh from the irritated old woman.

"I'm here." She said again.

"Is this some sort of game?" Máma questioned, not in the mood. "Shoo, out of my way."

Wednesday raised an eyebrow. "But you sent for me."

"Why would I do that?" Esmeralda asked.

"I…" Wednesday's eyes narrowed.

She had been deceived. Completely, straight-faced lied to by the face of innocence. The face of innocence, that her brother had fallen for faster than he had ever fallen off of the roof, and harder than he had ever hit the ground.

If she had been suspicious of the face of innocence before, she hadn't been. As _this_ was suspicion. This was what is felt like. It felt like the wings -no doubt she flew upon after the blood of innocent's had been sucked to give her that face- were fluttering about, spasmodically inside her stomach. It felt like cold blood was the only kind, and it was running through her veins, shooting itself into her heart; with the shock more intense than that of the attic-based electric chair. It felt like she was the only one who was aware of the dangerous creature upstairs, with the appearance of a black rose but a crown of thorns around her heart.

It felt like she didn't want the face of innocence anywhere near her brother.

"I don't know." Wednesday admitted, hastily moving out of the way of her grandmother.

She had to get upstairs. She had to find Pugsley. She had to-

"On second thought," Máma then grabbed Wednesday's arm and stood her next to Lurch. "Since you're here, you can help us figure out where this preposterous open bar is going to go."

She had to stay.

….

"Tighter." Morticia's voice oozed seduction, and she could feel Gomez's lips on her neck as he stood behind her.

"Sadist." Gomez shook his head and nipped at her neck.

"Ah, remind me again how I can be sadistic towards myself?" Morticia asked.

Gomez tugged at the black strings of her corset. "By having me tie this tighter than the ropes you use to hold me to the bed." He replied, and tied up her corset.

Morticia sighed. "I like them tight." She said, then turned in his arms and looked into his eyes. "And so do you."

Gomez pulled her close against his chest. "Mi demonia…" He growled.

"Mon diable…" Morticia's hands played with his tie as she leaned in and kissed him.

"Tish," Gomez wished that they could forget this funeral and he could take her right here, now. He wished.

His hands ran down her back as they went deeper into their kiss, breathing each other's air and hearts beating in time with one another's.

Morticia broke the kiss, a smirk on her lips.

Gomez raised an eyebrow, captivated.

His gothic temptress then pushed him onto the black, velvet couch in their closet, landing on top of him where they continued their heated make-out session.

Their well-organized closet was an entire room in itself; the walls of which were black with silver, gothic spirals printed in the wallpaper. The entire back wall was a mirror.

The floor was the same as that of their bedroom; black porcelain.

And there was a velvet, luxury couch in the middle of it all.

Looking up at her, Gomez was completely entranced. _"Cara mia."_ He kissed her, also holding her stable atop his form.

"What are you staring at?" Morticia asked, elegant finger, absently running along the side of his face.

"You." Gomez responded. "I'm staring at you, and wondering how on earth I got so lucky."

"Gomez…" Morticia's eyes shifted, and she smiled. "I ask that same question about myself, all the time."

"Ti amo, mi encantadora." Gomez's lips met hers for the hundredth time that day. He craved her more than any addict had ever craved a drug (or several), and he forever would.

He picked her up in his arms, then. His destination was their bed. He was determined to physically adore her for as long as possible.

Morticia leaned her head against his shoulder. "I do adore funerals." She admitted, despite this one being at a rather inconvenient time.

They had reached the bed, and Gomez gently lied her down, sitting atop the sheets with her and holding her in his arms.

"Everyone all in black," Morticia continued. "In mourning, in tears…"

Gomez's heart skipped several beats at her darkness. It was one of the first things that attracted him to her, minus her bewitching enchantment. "I adore _you_." He replied, unable to get enough of her.

Morticia snuggled up in his arms. "Must you make it so incredibly hard to go downstairs?"

Gomez laughed.

"I'll take that as a _yes_."

"I have to." Gomez defended. "All I want to do is keep you to myself all day." He paused, thinking. "Every day." He kissed her hand, continuing to her wrist. "Is that so wrong?"

"If it is, I'll gladly have you stay a sinner for eternity, mon cher." Morticia purred.

"Damn it, Tish." Gomez joked. "When did you plan to tell me that sinning was wrong?" He sighed, pretending that realization was setting in. "I am going to Hell."

Only Gomez could truly make Morticia laugh. She did, and then she kissed him. "Then, I'm going with you."

"That isn't an option, it simply is." Gomez kissed her forehead. "Believe me, I won't be anywhere without you."

Morticia's eyes looked out their window, then back at her adoring husband. "Rain."

It was 5:00 pm. The skies had begun to grieve.

Gomez looked out of the window as well, and noticed the tears falling from the oversized puffs of grey in the atmosphere.

"You'll read the eulogy wonderfully tonight, my dearest." Gomez told her.

"Merci, mon cher." Morticia held up her hand for her amour's lips to meet.

They did, and it was quite the passionate greeting.

Morticia had been chosen by the family to read Cousin Cordelia's eulogy, and prepare the last third of it.

Her immediate family (which consisted of her mother and two sisters) didn't care much for her. It truly was a terrible thing, to deny her respect just because she wasn't schizophrenic as the rest of them were.

They had spent an hour on the phone with Mrs. Addams, the night that the funeral date was set and pleaded with her to read and in part, write, Cousin Cordelia's eulogy. To which, she kindly (albeit somewhat rushed and strenuous to do so in so little time) agreed.

Morticia wore a black, gothic dress that swept the floor (as usual). It was tight, and of a silk-esque material. The dress was cut in a deep V-neck, and had long sleeves, lined in black diamonds. Her corset was black, and tied with midnight-coloured laces in the back. Its sides were lined, too, with black diamonds and it was covered with Victorian gothic designs.

With the dress, she wore black tights, and black, three-and-a-half-inch high heels. Her earrings dangled, and were of black diamonds. Of course, she wore her signature dark smoky eyes, and with her lips and nails as red as the blood that spilled during the vicious homicide of Cousin Cordelia. She wore five rings, four of which were black or silver.

Gomez, her beau diable, was clad in a black pinstripe suit. His tie was black, with a dark grey pattern, analogous to Morticia's corset (yet dissimilar in colour). A thin silver chain crossed over the tie.

He wore black dress shoes, and his hair was, as usual, slicked back.

"I still think Ezra killed her." Gomez said.

"Gomez!" Morticia playfully hit his chest. "Ezra was her mother."

"She lived similar to the women from Grey Gardens, Tish." Gomez explained. "Who would have killed her? If not, her mother?"

Morticia's eyes shifted in thought. "Her sisters?"

"Emilie and Autumn? They couldn't harm a fly; let alone stab their sister in the heart." Gomez concluded.

"Or, perhaps that's what they want you to think?" Morticia suggested.

"Very clever, Detective Addams." Gomez chuckled and kissed her cheek.

"I try." Morticia smoothed down the tie she had pulled out of its place during their heated session on the couch. "Do you remember your cousin, Balthazar's murder?" She reminisced.

Black hearts in his eyes, Gomez spoke, "How could I forget?"

"When I came to his funeral, my first funeral…" Morticia sighed, romantically. "You were still a suspect."

"You were so beautiful." Gomez told her, taking her hand. "Pale and mysterious. No one even looked at the corpse."

"I couldn't stop staring at you, all through the eulogy." Morticia recalled. "Your eyes, your mustache… your laugh."

"You bewitched me." Gomez kissed her hand. "I proposed that very night." His lips then traveled, farther up her arm and to her neck, then to her lips. And he pulled her into another amorous kiss.

Eyes closed, in paradise as her husband continued to shower her in affection; Morticia groaned. "I don't want to leave this room."

"Put the idea right out of your head." Gomez's lips met her temple, as if to kiss the thought away.

"Oui bien, mon diable." Morticia nodded, allowing him to worship her completely.

" _Gomez!"_ The voice was so feint that neither of the two heard it.

" _Gomez!"_ Was there even a voice at all?

" _Gomez!"_

There was. There came a banging at the lovers' bedroom door.

Gomez and his black angel exchanged a curious glance.

"Máma?" Morticia speculated.

Gomez shook his head. "She never knocks."

The amorous pair got out of bed to investigate the knock at the door, presuming it was one of the family to request they come downstairs to assist with the funeral preparations.

Oh, how very wrong they both indeed were.

Gomez opened the door to find nonother than Regina, standing there before them, in her mourning attire.

Her two-piece ensemble was completely black. Her skirt extended down to an inch or two above her knees. Her long-sleeved shirt was close-fitting, and lowcut in a sweetheart neckline. The shirt flowed out over the skirt a bit.

With the dress, she had on black, leather gloves. Her earrings were black diamond studs. She wore gothic tights and black high heels with ankle straps. Her hair had been curled for the occasion and half-pinned up; and a black hat-headpiece sat atop her head, with a short fishnet veil that fell over her eyes.

The only thing with some semblance of colour was her makeup; crimson lips, black eye makeup, with some amount of red. It always did have some amount of red.

"Gomez?" Regina had finally found him.

"Yes?" Gomez wondered what she was doing up here.

How long had she been looking for him? Their room was on the fifth floor.

"I've been looking for you." Regina explained. She looked him up and down. "You're looking handsome." She complimented. "I don't think I've seen you in that suit."Morticia's blood was reaching its boiling point but, hands folded, she said nothing. She did cast her husband a glance only he would understand.

The question was: Would he notice?

Gomez noticed, of course he did. But… the big picture. The damn big picture that only he and Regina knew existed. Twenty-two years ago, Regina had drawn it and he had foolishly been drawn into it. And now there was no escaping it.

"Thank you." He hesitantly responded.

Regina smiled. Or… was it a smirk? No. It was a smile. But behind it, there was a flash. A flash, of… wickedness? Or was it just lust over abuse of power? Therefore, was that not by default, wickedness?

"You're welcome." She then remembered why she had walked up five flights of stairs in the first place. "I need some help."

"You certainly do." Morticia said under her breath.

Regina cast her a threatening glance. But how did she hear her?

She turned her attention, then, back to the woman's husband. "I just have so much to do, and I still can't find Scarlett…" Her voice trailed off.

There was that look again. That look Regina shared with _Morticia's_ husband and the fact that it was a look at all-

Morticia wanted to throw herself out of their bedroom window. But she stayed put.

Gomez hated the very thought of it. He wanted, desperately to stay with his Tish. He wanted to hold her and make up for Regina intruding on their time together, and shower her in the devoted affection she deserved.

But was a part of a bigger picture than what anyone else realized. And he could not take that picture down and cast it aside no matter what he did. All he wanted to do was take that picture, throw it out of their bedroom window and into the rain, and let it fall five stories down until it soaked itself… ultimately wasting away into a pile of nothingness. But nothing is something the big picture would never become.

"Of course, let's… go find Scarlett." Gomez reluctantly agreed, pulling a cigar from his pocket to smoke.

He was going to need it.

Morticia watched, in a devastated daze as he walked out the door with Regina after planting a passionate kiss on Morticia's crimson lips. But it didn't change the reality of what he had just done.

He had just walked out of their bedroom without her. And with someone else.

….

Wednesday, Pugsley and Scarlett had been sitting under the oldest -and one of the only two- willow trees in the cemetery for the past hour, now.

The crying skies had been using the greenery as handkerchiefs to catch their liquid grievance. Little were they aware that the tree (which the children contemplated under), used as a cloth tear-catcher needed one itself. As it, too was weeping. Not for the lost soul, but for that was its perhaps unfortunate name. The Weeping Willow.

But of course, the skies were too wrapped up in their own melancholy, to notice the poor tree, or its twin (jaded, ever was it… it hadn't truly cried in ages).

"We haven't had a funeral since Grandpa Terse died." Pugsley explained to Scarlett. "This one has to be perfect."

"And by perfect, you mean we're going to sabotage it?" Scarlett needed to make sure she understood this correctly.

"Yes." Wednesday did not wish to talk to Scarlett. But she was going to have to put up with her to figure out what the face of innocence was guilty of.

"During the viewing of Cousin Cordelia's body." Pugsley added.

Scarlett shivered, accidentally.

Wednesday eyed her, questioningly.

"Is everything okay?" Pugsley asked.

"Yes." Scarlett nodded. "I'm just a bit cold, that's all."

"Oh." Pugsley then thought of some of the good things his parents taught him growing up. He paused. "Do you want my jacket-"

" _So,_ any ideas?" Wednesday interrupted.

No way was this little crush of Pugsley's going to go any further under her watch.

Scarlett held up a hand. "I have an idea."

"I would assume so." Wednesday said. "Unless you just raise your hand because you have some sort of morbidity."

Pugsley shook his head. "What's your idea?" He asked Scarlett.

"We could switch the bodies." She proposed.

"What?" Wednesday counted down from ten, internally. This was only option- not at all, ever.

"Switch the bodies." Scarlett said again.

"Yea." Pugsley was on board. But he would have been on board with anything; even if Scarlett had suggested they mail the body and themselves to Cuba. "I get it." He turned to Wednesday. "We could switch Cousin Cordelia with… Old Man Jenkins from the street where our bus stop is!"

"Poor Old Man Jenkins." Scarlett bowed her head. "When did he die?"

Wednesday was completely expressionless in her reply. "He didn't."

Scarlett suppressed a gulp. It was dreadful enough that she had shivered. "I see."

"We can't switch the bodies." Wednesday terminated the idea.

"Why not?" Pugsley inquired.

"Where are we going to find another body on time?" Wednesday asked.

" _Old Man Jenkins-"_

"Even if we wanted to take the time to arrange the slaughter of a beloved, seventy-six year old neighbourhood watchman; we couldn't." Wednesday paused, letting her explanation sink in before her brother started up again. "It would take too long."

Scarlett could not meet the eyes of the ghoulish girl, so close to her in age, but she had to. So, she did.

" _Darn!"_ Pugsley snapped, defeated. "What else is there?"

"I have an idea." Wednesday told the two. "We could steal one of Máma's spell books and resurrect Cousin Cordelia during the viewing. It would at the very least, startle people." She sighed when she got no response. "I'm working at a disadvantage. We only have forty-five minutes."

"We can't do that." Pugsley shot down her idea.

"Why not?" The inquiry came from Scarlett. Why?

Now, Pugsley wasn't so sure why not. On second thought, maybe it wasn't such a bad idea after all.

When Pugsley said nothing, Wednesday spoke. "He's right, for once." She began, eyeing her brother.

She knew what Scarlett was doing. No way would she fall prey to her manipulation. One of the siblings had to stay rational.

"Cousin Cordelia would likely order a mass slaughter of all of the living members of the family." Wednesday explained.

"Her family kept her on their property to try and make her go crazy like the rest of them." Pugsley enlightened the confused Scarlett. "Nobody knows if it worked."

"She always said if she escaped the property, she'd do it." Wednesday continued. She sighed. "Cousin Cordelia had a thing for genocide."

Scarlett nodded. "Alright, no resurrection then."

"Wait!" Pugsley almost leapt up, he was so excited. "We could hold her for ransom."

Wednesday shook her head, exasperated. "She's _dead_ , Pugsley." She added, "And we could just pay it."

Pugsley's expression turned glum. "Well, it was just an idea."

The children sat, the tears of the sky drowning out the silence of their thoughts.

Scarlett brightened up. "We could-"

" _Wait."_ Wednesday held up a commanding hand. She had an idea. Turning to her younger brother, she asked, "Aunt Vindetta, she's eighty-five with that anxiety disorder. Right?"

Pugsley nodded. "Don't forget the addiction to hallucinogenic drugs."

Registering this piece of knowledge, Wednesday asked another question. "And there's going to be that big, blood fountain next to Cousin Cordelia. Right?"

"Uh-huh." Pugsley confirmed.

No one did catch (and she thanked whatever power there might have been) the worried look in Scarlett's eyes at Wednesday's words. What kind of fountain?

Wednesday nodded, slowly. "Pugsley?"

"Yea?" Pugsley shifted, sore from sitting in the same position for so long.

Wednesday's eyes gave some indication that she would have been grinning, if she ever truly expressed herself physically. "Go get Thing."

….

"Believe me, I did this to your father twice. And then all you'd have to do is take a tiny pint of blood while he's asleep and put it into the cauldron." Máma explained. "He won't feel a thing."

"Of course not, with what you suggested I do beforehand." Morticia locked her mother's bedroom door. "Máma, I am his wife. I can't knock him out and take a pint of his blood. What do you take me for?"

"A desperate woman or you wouldn't be talkin' to me." Esmeralda stated, bluntly.

"Does everything has to have an immediate magickal solution?" Morticia asked.

"Yes. I'm your damn mother. I've been a decent one for the past twenty-one years and I'm not going to screw it up now because you have a 'tude."

Morticia raised her eyebrow. "I do not have a _'tude_." The word, _'tude_ , sounded odd coming from her voice. As her pronunciation was eloquent and the word was pronounced no different than all others. "I have a husband, who had a Regina." She sat on her mother's bed, straight-backed. "Who clearly wants him back."

Máma shook a finger. "You know most battered women kill their lovers to escape and find themselves."

"Yes, well I'm beginning to question whether or not she was truly battered." Morticia admitted. "And the only place she's trying to find herself is back into a my husband's bed."

Máma's eyes enlarged. _"Morticia."_ She cracked a smile. "You _really are_ my daughter."

"Is that a good thing?" Morticia questioned.

"Not sure." Esmeralda replied. She continued to flip through the pages of her spell book. "Try this, then. Drain all his blood. Replace it with vinegar overnight. Leave a headless rooster behind his pillow. Smear his forehead, palms and feet with the tears of a stillborn monkey. Add milk. Oh, wait- never mind. That's suspicion and anxiety."

" _Máma."_ Morticia was -to say the least- offended. "I told you I don't want any spells. And even still; that's barbaric." Disdainfully, she shook her head. _"Milk."_

Clapping the book shut and causing dust to form a cloud around her, Máma then put it back on her shelf. "Truth be told, I don't think you need one." She told her daughter. "I'm just trying to help."

"I know." Morticia looked up at her. "Thank you. I think, more than anything, the last incident upset me the most."

"Was that when he left the bedroom with Regina?" Máma asked.

Morticia tried not to explode internally just reliving the horrible experience. She succeeded, admirably. "Yes. It was."

Esmeralda shook her head. "Morticia, he's probably just revisiting old memories."

Morticia's eyes widened at her mother's words. "What _kind_ of memories?"

Esmeralda simply chuckled.

Morticia shook her head, still unconvinced at what her mother was implying. "He doesn't want her here."

Now, Máma laughed. "That could've been a lie, Morticia." She sighed, sympathy in her eyes when she looked at her daughter. "You're too much like your father."

"Gomez never lies to me like that." Morticia told Esmeralda. "He would tell me the truth. And that wouldn't happen. I love him with everything I have and he would do anything for me. He _loves_ me -and _only_ me, for that matter- completely." She was standing now.

"I know." Esmeralda shook her head, seeing the hurt in her daughter's eyes. And she knew that she was in part to blame. "But the spell thing is still on the table if the one you've had him under for the past twenty-one years isn't-"

Knock.

Morticia smoothed down her dress. "Let him in, please."

Máma, not willing to argue with her stubborn daughter (she really was a female carbon copy of Charles, in almost every way), opened her bedroom door.

Standing at the door was Gomez; black rose with the sharpest thorns he could find, in hand.

"Hey there, stud." Máma winked.

"Hello, Máma." Gomez winked. "Is Morticia in here with you?" He asked.

Máma feigned confusion. "You mean you weren't looking for me? I must say, I'm rather disappointed. I get all dressed up for your ass, only for you to tell me you're here for my daughter?"

Gomez laughed. "I apologize. I know how, awkward this must be."

Esmeralda shook her head. "Way to make a woman feel old. She's over there." She moved to the side so her son-in-law could step into her bedroom, then and find her daughter.

Gomez walked into Esmeralda's bedroom.

It was the stereotypical real witch's bedroom. There was a cauldron in the middle of it and black bookshelves with spell books of all kinds lined the walls. The bedsheets had pentagram designs on them, and there was a cream-coloured, spiderweb canopy around her bed.

But all Gomez could focus on was the radiant beauty that was his Tish.

He approached her, and held out the rose. "Cara mia, you're enchanting." He kissed her hand. "I adore you. You'll read magnificently tonight. I've heard how dark your bewitching voice can get." And at that, he handed her the rose.

Morticia took the flower, and wanted so badly to let him to take her in his arms and show her how sorry he was but she tortured him for an extra minute and herself. "So… are you going to stay with me at the funeral?"

Gomez couldn't resist her. He held out his arms, needing her desperately. "Querida, why wouldn't I?"

Morticia couldn't take it anymore. She embraced him, and finally allowed him to hold her, tightly and kiss her everywhere that he possibly could.

She kissed him, passionately. "It's five-fifty-six, mon amour." She informed him.

Gomez looped his arm through hers, and took her pale, delicate hand, bringing it to his lips. "Then allow me, to escort you to the funeral of the year, Mrs. Addams."

Esmeralda waited a minute or two to proceed out of her bedroom after the lovers had left; escorting herself to the _only_ funeral, of the year.

….

Six o'clock.

The grey clouds had begun to dawn their black clothes but thirteen minutes prior, so as to blend in among the mourners. Their shapes deformed to fit their state of gloom.

They now bloated themselves, black and grey mixtures of puffiness spilling over into each other. They had now lost control of their weeping. Their works of water spilled out of them and fell down to earth, sliding off of the black umbrellas of every Addams who had brought one, descending down the weeping willow trees, and falling flat upon the gravestones of the long-since buried deceased.

Soon -as they had promised their mother of darkness not to disturb her reading- they would begin to howl.

Cacaesthesia had fallen over the ever-silent Addams clan, as Mrs. Addams concluded the reading of the eulogy.

"And in dying slowly, do we already depart? Enclosed in morbidity, does one truly take the vow, _in health_ , as such? Tearful skies give us pause on this day of mourning. Of which, we should somehow see through eyes, not our own, that beauty can exist through affliction. It did, and it died. But let it not be forgotten."

Morticia stepped down from the small, black podium at which she recited the eulogy, then. And she joined her husband in the sea of black.

….

Wednesday held up a hand.

They knew their rolls. They had gone over the plan one hundred times.

It was now time for the viewing of the body.

The plan was absolutely perfect: Wednesday was to give the signal for Thing, who was lying in the coffin, disguised as Cousin Cordelia's hand. As soon as Thing got the signal, he would pop up. It would send Aunt Vindetta -whom was eighty-five with an anxiety disorder and heavy addiction to hallucinogenic drugs- into a panic. She would fall backwards, crashing into the blood fountain. Blood would thus, splatter all over a couple of guests and look like an Addams-version of the prom scene from Carrie.

The plan was absolutely perfect. _Was._

What the three ambitious children didn't count on was the plan working as terribly as a broken Rube Goldberg contraption. But that was, to their dismay, what happened.

" _Ready?"_ Wednesday whispered behind the gravestone of Uncle Imar.

Scarlett hid behind the gravestone adjacent to Pugsley, who was hiding between the two girls.

Wednesday wanted him within her view.

Scarlett nodded.

"One…" Pugsley began to count down. "Two…" And just as he was about to reach three-

Scarlett's hand flashed the okay sign, high enough for Thing to notice; yet low enough so none of the mourners would see it.

The chain of events that played out after were something out of a terrible movie (comedy or drama, one was never able to tell).

Upon observing what Thing perceived to be the signal, he leapt up out of the coffin… early. Approaching the coffin was indeed Aunt Vindetta. However, there were three funeral-goers in front of her, and two behind her. She had a full-on panic attack, worse than the youngsters or poor Thing could have imagined. In a complete and utter state of terror, Aunt Vindetta fell into all five people. This caused them all to end up in a cluster, fighting to untangle and calm down the uncontrollable Aunt Vindetta. The hoard crashed into the blood fountain, and blood splattered everywhere. It was on everybody within fifteen feet of the fountain… including the body of Cousin Cordelia.

The children froze.

Everyone froze. That is, until they began to grow angry, seeking out the perpetrators of the outrageous incident.

Funerals were serious business in the Addams family. The prank would have been looked and laughed at as just that, had blood not been splattered onto the body of Cousin Cordelia.

Respect for the bodies of the dead before being placed in their eternal resting place was of the highest importance at an Addams funeral.

And the body of Cousin Cordelia had certainly not been respected.

Wednesday was furious, and she enragedly glared at Scarlett. "We went over this one hundred times!" She yelled.

Scarlett, hearing the venom in her voice and the upset from the mourners, knew she had done something wrong. She looked down at her shoes (looking anywhere _but_ the fountain). "I'm sorry." Her voice was barely audible.

"Sorry?" Wednesday looked out at the family. Soon, they would figure out it had been the children who had done it.

She would be more than happy to throw Scarlett in the middle of a pentagram and sacrifice her to Cousin Cordelia. Although she knew that it would not be requested.

" _I believe we know who the… instigators, of this incident are."_

Wednesday heard Regina's voice say from a few feet away.

If so much as a drop of blood had gotten on her clothes, surely she would not hesitate to anger. Would she? It was a stain on the new clothes, but it was also blood. She was a vampire. _Vampires…_

Regina (merely a drop of blood having gotten on the heel of her shoe) casually examined her nails, then pointed toward Uncle Imar's gravestone. "Children are products of their environment, after all. The ring leader was likely that Wednesday." She sighed. "Too much like her mother, that child is."

Each of the three children were dragged out from their hiding places, and placed next to the black podium where the eulogy was read.

Gomez and Morticia shared an alarmed expression, and looked from the children to the body of their deceased cousin.

No blood on their persons, and knowing what needed to be done; the pair proceeded to walk to the podium.

Witnessing the hosts of the funeral at the podium, the Addams clan and Regina took their seats before the podium.

Morticia cast a single glance at three women still standing over the children; and they immediately sat down with the rest of the mourners.

Gomez adjusted the microphone, looking over at the children one last time before turning to look out at the funeral-goers. _"Kids."_ He gave a small chuckle, attempting to ease the tension.

Morticia decided it best to speak when no one laughed. "I understand you're all very concerned about the treatment body of Cordelia Addams, and rightly so." She said.

Gomez took his turn. "However, this was merely a harmless prank gone wrong." He explained. "The children intended no disrespect toward the body of their cousin. Rather, they were trying to have well-intentioned, unclean fun and things got out of hand."

"Precisely." Morticia put a hand through her husband's. "I will hold a ritual over Cordelia's grave tonight, to make amends with her."

Every Addams in attendance gave a solemn nod or a firm clap in approval of the couple's handling of the incident.

The ringing of a gong sounded.

In the ballroom, the orchestra began to play.

….

The skies had lost control of their weeping when the orchestra began to play.

Whether it was a waltz, or some other slow song, representative of that gloomy Sunday; the clouds wept until they howled. And even then, their tears fell.

Their howling shook the trees that they once used to catch their tears. Their grief was a force strong enough to produce a ground-shaking bellow. They often blinked; and that was a light, bright enough to flash bolt-like streaks of purple across the night sky.

They had no consolation. For nothing of their sorrow could be heard over the orchestra.

Cigar between two fingers (though it was almost completely forgotten by now), Gomez held his gothic beauty in his arms as they danced; looking into her eyes, all others present, becoming completely nonexistent as he did.

"You read that eulogy beautifully, mi encantadora." He brought her hand to his lips.

"Merci, mon amour." Morticia purred.

"And you handled that situation with the children, marvelously." Gomez complimented.

"Thank you." Morticia smirked. "So did you."

"Not quite as well as you did." Gomez admitted, letting out a laugh.

"Well, you _were_ right." Morticia smiled and pressed closer against him. "Children will be children."

"Of course." Gomez stood by his previous claim. "And I am thrilled beyond what anyone could imagine," He began. "That Wednesday is turning out so much like you."

He planted a passionate kiss on her lips as the song that had once played, faded into another.

….

Wednesday had dragged her brother away from Scarlett as soon as the gong had sounded.

Scarlett hadn't gone after them.

Since the incident with their _prank gone wrong_ -as their father had explained it- they had kept a low profile. They were not going to risk running into an unpleased member of the family (not that any of them were particularly close with Cousin Cordelia). That, and they were tremendously embarrassed.

"Why do you think Scarlett hasn't come to sneak around with us?" Pugsley asked his sister, in a disheartened tone.

The children had avoided all members of the family by hiding behind different instruments of the orchestra or sneaking away to the vacant (apart from a few boxes and miscellaneous pieces of furniture), spare room directly above the ball room, if they desired solitude.

Looking around the empty room, Wednesday sighed. "I don't know." Speaking further, she went on to say, "And I don't care."

"You're mad at her?" Pugsley played with a small pair of scissors as he sat on the wood floor of the spare room.

"Yes." Wednesday figured there was no point in hiding it. She looked down at the child-sized scissors in her brother's hands. "Those scissors aren't fit for a one-year-old. Mother and father would be ashamed."

"Sorry." Pugsley threw the scissors down. "Are we going to go back downstairs?"

"If you want." It didn't matter to Wednesday at this point.

"Oh." Pugsley's eyes were downcast.

He missed her. He missed Scarlett.

Wherever she was, he hoped she wasn't ignoring them because she was guilty.

It was an accident.

….

As the orchestra's tempo switched to a different tune, the black-clad clan of mourners changed their positions to fit the style of dance.

Gomez kissed his black angel, and after he did, he felt a tap on his shoulder.

Morticia felt her heat-level rise, on its own, for the first time in her life.

Gomez turned around to find Regina, standing before him.

"Regina." Gomez greeted and took a puff of his cigar.

"Hello, dear." Regina didn't meet the eyes of the woman beside him. "May I cut in?" Sha asked.

Morticia's hands folded, elegantly (though it was made to look that way, inside it was designed to save her from choking the death out of the woman before her).

Gomez told her he wouldn't. He said- big picture.

Big picture.

Nearly inhaling when he should have done the opposite, he hesitantly agreed. "Of course."

He kissed Morticia, and in his eyes was a look that screamed apology.

But she barely recognized apology when Regina whisked him away to get into position.

She nodded slowly to herself. _So,_ she thought. _This is how he intends to play it. I don't know what he's doing. But I know this, is how he intends to play it._

Morticia memorized the spot where Regina and her husband had found their place. But she would be damned if she stood and waited in hers.

She walked through the sea of black, only stopped by compliments from funeral-goers on what a beautiful eulogy she read. As she walked, she sought out one man who she had only spoken to twice: Damien Addams.

Gomez's second cousin, never married, and almost as big a cad as he was, back in his youth (only twenty years older than he used to be). Stereotypical, tall, dark and handsome. He smoked cigars, on occasion and drank red wine. He was more Italian than anything else. Most of all, ever since the day he had set eyes on her, he always had an interest in Morticia.

The minute Morticia had turned on her mysterious charm, it took not a moment for Damien to ask her to dance.

And to Damien's delighted astonishment, she accepted.

Damien led her to the floor. At least, he was under the impression he was leading her. Little was he aware, Morticia had directed him to the perfect area: right next to her husband and Regina, the want-to-be concubine (but she would never be).

The dance was slow, somewhat of a sensualized waltz. But neither Morticia nor Gomez paid any attention to the moves they were to pull on the floor (for they came as naturally as breathing).

Rather, they continuously stole glances at one another. The tension was unbearable.

Gomez stared at the woman in his second cousin's arms, and there was only lust burning in his eyes. He knew she was well aware of who that man was.

She had planned to cast glances at him every so often, and drive him mad with currently unobtainable physical passion, turning the vision before him into pain. She had carefully calculated her every movement, designed in the name of spite and desire.

She was making him jealous.

"Thank you for the dance." Regina's hand ran down Gomez's strong shoulder when the song ended.

"Thank you." Gomez replied, politely.

Seeing this, Morticia's insides clenched up.

Damien kissed her hand. "And thank _you_ ," He said. "For a most beautiful memory."

"It was my pleasure." Morticia responded.

Before anyone could do a thing more, the last gong sounded.

The funeral was coming to an end.

….

"Pugsley, something isn't right." Wednesday tried to explain that night, sitting on her younger brother's bed.

Her hair was brushed out, and she wore a long sleeved, black nightgown with matching slippers. No one could deny that she bared a great resemblance to her mother, if they had been paid to do so.

Pugsley wore a grey, short-sleeved pajama shirt and matching pajama shorts with faded white stripes covering them.

"Apart from the incident today, which _was not_ an accident;" Wednesday asserted. "Do you remember when she told me that Máma sent for me?"

"Yea." Pugsley recalled.

When Wednesday left, they were alone together. It was… nice.

"She didn't." Wednesday told him.

"What do you mean?" Pugsley questioned, sitting on the edge of his bed.

"I told Máma that I was there and she couldn't have cared less." Wednesday explained. "Until later." She went on to say, "I said I was told she sent for me and she said that she didn't."

Pugsley shook his head, refusing to believe it. "Maybe she just forgot."

Wednesday scoffed, in sarcasm. "Oh, Scarlett _forgot_ -"

"I meant Máma." Pugsley clarified, cutting her off.

Wednesday was in disbelief; not only at the fact that he had interrupted her, but also that he would accuse their grandmother of forgetfulness before thinking anything at all of Scarlett.

In his eyes, she could do no wrong.

He had it bad, very bad.

Wednesday now knew she would have to be on high alert.

It was apparent her brother was as blind as the bat he had fallen for.

….

Midnight.

Morticia and her amour had just come back into their bedroom. They had been _undressing_ , slowly for the past two minutes now.

Morticia had come back a bit later, as she had to complete the ritual over Cousin Cordelia's grave.

Now, she stood near her vanity, removing her rings, while her husband fussed with his tie.

The door was locked, the tension in the bedroom contained within its expensive, gothic walls.

"That was _no_ coincidence." Gomez shook his head, setting his tie down on the bed.

Morticia raised an eyebrow, beginning to untie her corset. "I'm sorry, mon cher. Did my dancing with someone else right in front of you get on your nerves?"

"Tish, you _know_ I didn't want to do that." Gomez's fingers began to unbutton his suit jacket. "That was entirely different."

"How?" Morticia questioned, corset now undone. She set it on her vanity.

"It-" Gomez lied his jacket on the bed. He couldn't tell her, no matter how badly he wanted to. And God, did he want to. "I didn't do it to spite you, querida. I would never do that."

"No? And I suppose I would?" Morticia slipped out of her dress, now only clothed in her black bra, panties, tights and heels.

"You _did_." Gomez said and took off his undershirt. "If you didn't, then please explained to me how his lips ended up on your hand?"

Morticia grabbed her nightclothes from off of her dresser and removed her bra. "Somebody's jealous." Her tone was quiet.

Pants removed now, Gomez looked up. "What?"

"Nothing." Morticia smirked as she changed into her clothes for the night.

Clothed in only his burgundy pajama bottoms, Gomez stared at the vision before him that was his black angel.

Morticia, makeup off but still just as gorgeous, wore a completely black, lingerie-esque nightgown. It extended down to her knees, with flowing material that swept the floor. Lowcut in a dramatic V-neck with thin, black straps for sleeves. It was a beautiful, gothic piece in itself. But on her…

Morticia pushed her hair over her shoulder. "You promised me you would stay with me." Her voice was calm but had an upset edge.

"Tish, if I could have, I would have." Gomez would have given anything to be able to give her his reasons. To make her understand.

"You could have." Morticia stated.

"If that is the case, you could have easily declined Damien's proposal to dance." Gomez threw a hand up.

"I could have." Morticia told him. "But I didn't."

"I see." Gomez bit his lip, jealousy bubbling over. "He's almost as big a cad as I was, Morticia. The bastard doesn't even have a conscience! Hell, I ought to have killed the man years ago for what he did at our wedding! I saw the way he looked at you, he always lets those lips of his -that might I add, by now have likely kissed every woman in the city of Mockrage- linger on your hand for far too long!" Each step he took was filled with passion and his hands flew with every word. "But -the fool- I let him live!" He pressed a hand to his forehead.

Morticia raised an eyebrow, unable to help the sly smile playing on her pale lips. "Jealous, mon cher?"

Gomez moved closer to her. _"Yes."_ He growled. He looked, intensely into her dark eyes. "Insanely jealous. When he touched you, all I wanted to do was rip his throat out. More than that, I wanted to break away and take you in my arms…" He began, and walked closer with each word. "hold you and let my lips leave a devoted, very willing, passionate trail of slavery up your arm."

Morticia watched that jealous vein protrude in his forehead. Amused and admittedly, completely aroused at the state she could bring him to just by dancing with another man, she sat sideways at her vanity stool, smirking at him.

Upon noticing this, Gomez stared at her; lust and jealousy burning in his eyes. "Did I mention that I wanted to disembowel my cousin for even looking at you that way? He put his hands on your hips. He pressed against you. He looked at you with something in his eyes, Tish…" He kneeled before her, beads of perspiration dripping from his forehead. _"You're mine."_

Morticia's expression (all but those eyes of hers) remained the same but her tone was laced with vulnerability. "Well, perhaps I need a reminder."

"Cara mia…" Gomez's hands gripped the top of her legs, gently but tight enough for her to truly understand he was there. "You know you are the only woman I have ever, could ever, _will_ ever, love. I love you, my darling. _My_ Tish, I love you."

Morticia was weak at the knees. "Je t'aime, mon amour."

Gomez kissed her hand, passionately.

"Now... get up." Morticia's command was ordered in the most sultry of tones. "Remind me just who _you_ belong to."

Gomez groaned. No further command needed, he grabbed her and pinned her against their bedroom wall. Holding her arms above her head, he purposefully restrained her and kissed her, passionately.

Their tongues danced as they wished they could have before, and Gomez used one of his hands to make-out with her as hard as he possibly could. He reached behind her and grabbed the back of her lingerie-dress, lifting it over her head between fervent kisses and declarations of devotion and tearing it off.

Morticia's hands were now free, and they grabbed onto her amour. They ran over his hair and clawed at his neck. With each kiss she exchanged with her oxygen, she was transported into a bleak paradise.

She felt Gomez's hands grab onto her bottom, and she instinctively gripped his shoulders and wrapped her legs around his torso.

He held them there, tight and protective. And skillfully, he managed to walk to the bed.

Morticia intentionally caused them to fall over backwards onto their sheets, so she landed on top of him.

Fully situating themselves onto the bed, Gomez grinned, pants now discarded and gripped her hips.

Morticia's lips crashed into his. She bit his lip, sensually and continued downward, stopping at his neck. She steadied his strong hands on her slim waist, and sucked his neck, biting and drawing blood (as he so often did do her… she admitted, she craved the taste of him, _all of him_ ).

She licked the hot, ruby liquid as it trickled out of the small wound and down his neck.

Pressed hard against him, and hands on his shoulders, she kissed him again, deeply passionate.

Gomez adored her, everything about her. He loved her when she was under him and when she was on top, tasting of a mix of herself (which he would never, ever get enough of) and his blood.

He groaned as she continued downward and pleasured him.

" _Cara mia…"_ He was able to get out. "Tish…"

Soon, he had reached his climax. And the sound of her amour crying out her name was something Morticia could never get enough of. Especially the reminder… the reminder it gave her: he was _hers_.

Morticia met his lips once more, and when she did, her husband flipped her onto her back, now on top of her.

He worshipped her, and desperately needed to feel her surrounding him.

Morticia grabbed onto him as he entered her.

The lovers cried out one another's names into the dark of midnight, in blissful unhappiness (as they adored to call it) and passion.

By the time the clock struck 3:00 am, Gomez was holding his black angel, tightly in his arms.

He stroked her hair, and planted a kiss on her forehead before watching her beautiful eyes shut, allowing her to drift into much-needed sleep.

Gomez, needing to say one last thing to her before giving into sleep himself, planted a kiss on her lips and whispered: "Goodnight, mi hermosa diosa."


	5. Sway with Me

Chapter 4: Sway with Me

Thirteen days, it had been since the arrival of Ms. Blood. Three-hundred and twenty hours, and eighteen-point-seven minutes since the unusual bats, the ones that never used to fly by the Addams cemetery at night, now flew unswervingly into it; and inhabited its caves, trying to make it appear as though they had been there all along. But they had never been.

Had they?

The clouds, although they had not been the ones to commend Mrs. Addams on a eulogy, well-recited, may just have taken her words to heart; more so than all others that had been at Cousin Cordelia's funeral. As the clouds intended not to let the lost soul be forgotten; and thus, still grieved.

Their tears were destined to fall, soon enough. But they did not, yet. They waited, for whatever reason. It was as though some force of grievance were compelling them to wait. _Not yet,_ commanded the force. _For there is a time and place for your water-drops of mourning._

The fog was back again (Though it had originally left for quite some time… eight days, nearly.), and it was quite opposite the rain. Light in number, as well as in texture. In certain areas, it was thicker than others. Toward the bog -another asset of their esteemed estate- was where the fog began to thicken most, and increase in quantity.

Their bellowing could be heard from afar (perhaps, the skies were attempting to mourn to the inner city; the people there would not listen, they would soon find). They blinked, not. Not yet. They were waiting.

For what?

The entire scene looked something out of a dismal painting entitled, simply, "Gloom." It was perfect. Cold, finally as there had been quite the streak of heat this past summer. Although most of the Addams' went about their days and nights, unaffected.

Most Addams'. Not Pugsley.

Pugsley Addams -having cracked open his window ten minutes prior so as to let in the cold air- had not spoken a word to the mysterious girl he had been infatuated with since her arrival, thirteen days ago (for how could the young boy have lost count). It was eating him alive (and different than the kind in the story his parents often told of his now deceased Cousin Sylvester who got swallowed by an Anaconda while swimming in the Amazonian rivers and lived to tell the tale; only to die a week later by drowning in a small pond).

This was tearing him apart.

The only type of interaction Pugsley had with Scarlett was a shared but fleeting, passing glance or a… somewhat of a smile. Was that apology in her eyes that he saw?

He knew it had to be because she was feeling guilty about the accident, and he felt terrible about it. That wasn't her fault! It wasn't anyone's fault. They were just children who made a mistake.

They had made a mistake, that was true. But Pugsley was not going to make anymore. And the mistake he would just about kill himself if he made would be to lose Scarlett over some _prank gone wrong_.

Which is why, last night, Pugsley had left a note outside of his bedroom door for Thing to deliver to Scarlett. The note explicitly -and politely- asked Scarlett to meet Pugsley in the cemetery, at Cousin Cordelia's headstone.

He would make things right with her. He had to, or he would never forgive himself.

Pugsley dressed in his best suit. It was black, with a white undershirt. He had not given his tie a second thought, as he had already had it laid out on his dresser.

The tie was the most important tie he owned. It was a black bowtie, with grey pinstripes. His father had owned it, and given it to him when he turned seven.

" _Pugsley,"_ _he had said._ _"You're reaching that age when you'll begin to… feel certain urges. You may find yourself developing strong, attractions of which you cannot deny. I want you to know they are completely normal."_

 _Pugsley raised an eyebrow. "You think I'm gay?"_

 _Gomez's eyes enlarged._ "What?"

" _Oh." Pugsley looked down at the guillotine he had been playing with. "Nothing. Sorry, father. I was at Jeremy's house and he was having this talk with_ his _father, and that's when Jeremy asked if his dad thought_ he _was gay. So I thought it was, like, a thing you got when you were older or something." He slammed the guillotine down, looking back up at his father. "Ya know, like how women get pregnant?"_

 _Gomez shook his head, figuring he needed to have a talk with his son, soon before he had his world shattered once he entered middle school. "No. No, son, it isn't." He replied. "I don't, think you're gay." He said, somewhat awkwardly. "What I was going to tell you, was: you're going to lust after women." Gomez figured he should just be blunt about it now that his son broke his flow by the concerning question for a boy of seven. He then added, "I'm assuming." Under his breath._

" _I am?" Pugsley stuck his hand in the guillotine._

" _Yes." Gomez sat a bit more relaxed on the living room couch and took a puff of his cigar. "When I was about two years younger than you were, I had my first girlfriend."_

 _Pugsley appeared somewhat shocked. "You were five?"_

 _Gomez shook his head, smoke encircling him. "What can I say?"_

" _Eww." Pugsley decided._

 _Gomez laughed, cigar now held between two fingers. He looked into his young son's eyes. "Pugsley, I believe, soon… perhaps not this year -which is perfectly acceptable; your uncle was a late one as well- you are going to develop feelings for a very luck young girl. Or a young lady, if you're that much like your uncle." He slapped his son's shoulder, with a chuckle. "So, I am giving you the tie that I wore on my first real date. I wasn't five. I don't consider the real ones five through twelve." Gomez winked. "I was thirteen. And this," He handed his son a bowtie, black with grey pinstripes. "is for you."_

 _Pugsley's eyes enlarged, excitedly. "Thanks, father!" He shouted. "Can I put it on?"_

 _Gomez sat his son in his lap as Pugsley held the tie in his chubby, innocent hands. "On your first date, you can. Yes." He responded._

 _Pugsley saluted him. "Sweet, I'm gonna go find a girl!"_

 _Just as he was about to hop off of his father's lap, he was held back._

" _Not so fast, Pugsley." Gomez pointed at the tie. "You are not to wear that tie until your first date. And your first date will be with a girl you have true feelings for."_

 _Pugsley nodded, in understanding. Mostly. "So, why are you giving it to me now?"_

 _Gomez lifted his son off of his lap and smiled down at him. "Someday, you'll see." He told him._

As the ten-year-old stood in the mirror, adjusting that tie, he now understood why it had been given to him at seven.

His father was unsure of when his feelings would occur, as was he. But that tie was always a reminder, sitting in the top part of his dresser, that he would develop them. And when he did, he should chase after them… take them on that first date, and where that tie.

And, despite the excitement of the day, he could not help but wonder who he was. Would he die wishing to look like one of his parents? He hoped not.

He loved his parents, and his parents loved him just as he was. It seemed that the only one having trouble differentiating between looking different and _being_ different, was him.

Contemplating his interpersonal thoughts as he was, he did not hear Thing creep into his bedroom.

"Thing!" Pugsley watched as the hand crawled up onto his bed.

Thing handed Pugsley a small piece of paper, with incredibly articulate cursive writing on it.

Pugsley took it, enthusiastically.

 _I will be there at 11:00 am._

"Thanks, Thing!" Pugsley set the letter atop his dresser, in a hurry.

Confused, Thing held a _thumbs up_ in the air.

What had Thing done besides run into Scarlett in the hall? Upon seeing him, she had handed him her note to give to Pugsley, whatever it had said.

Thing had left a minute prior, and judging by the clock on the wall Pugsley thought it best to head out to the cemetery, now.

Pugsley, beaming, walked out of his bedroom, not bothering to notice the note he had written, flat on its back next to his door; never once picked up, nor opened, nor delivered… but answered.

…..

Morticia's eyes fluttered open.

As they did, she took in the only sensation that mattered to her: her husband's strong, protective arms, holding her in a tight embrace.

She smiled, and snuggled closer to him (if it were truly possible). Thus making herself even more comfortable than she had already been.

The air was cold, for summer. However the heat of her diable's body and their thick, soft blankets warmed her immensely.

Morticia's eyes gazed, amorously at her sleeping other half. Her stiletto nails traced, absently along his bare chest, and she couldn't help but let her lips, passionately -yet gently, so as not to disturb his sleep- meet his cheek.

And although she had not intended to wake her lover, she minded not, the outcome of her action (which was opposite her gentle intent).

Gomez awakened at the kiss of his black angel, and immediately returned her it with one of his own, filled with the fiery fervency, unable to be physically expressed previously due to the containing subconsciousness of sleep.

Morticia moaned. "Good morning, mon amour."

Gomez kissed her hand. "How did you sleep?" He inquired.

"Sleep?" Morticia gave an undertone of a laugh.

Gomez grinned and shook his head. "Yes, querida, sleep. Something I rarely think about unless I can see your beautiful face in my dreams."

"Merci, mon extase." Morticia's lips met his. "I slept wonderfully, mon cher." She then said. "But that was because you held me all night."

"I won't ever let you go." Gomez replied, then readjusting them both so that she lied on her side and he held her from behind. "Comfortable?" He asked.

"Oui." Morticia smirked as her husband began to kiss her neck.

Window uncovered (dissimilar to its usual state; covered by their long, gothic drapes), the lovers looked out at the cemetery -from what they could see that was not blocked by their black, medium-sized balcony- to see their son. He was clad in a suit, and appeared to be waiting for someone.

Morticia's eyes closed, briefly, in paradise as Gomez sucked on her neck. "Mmm… that feels so good."

Gomez planted a kiss on her shoulder. "Good morning, mi corazón."

Morticia sighed, blissfully. "It is indeed."

Gomez looked back out the window at their son. "He's waiting for a girl."

Morticia raised an eyebrow. "How can you be so sure?"

"Do you remember that tie I gave him when he was seven?" Gomez asked her.

Morticia nodded. "He was so excited. He must have told every member of the family the story of how it came into his possession."

Gomez's features were proud, at the very least. "I told him he could only put it on when he went on his first date."

Morticia narrowed her eyes, and noticed the tie on her son, from five stories below where the bedroom she lied in was.

It was the same tie.

"He _is_ waiting for a girl." Morticia confirmed. "Our little boy…" She turned in her husband's arms, staring into his eyes.

"He's growing up so quickly." Gomez ran his hand through her hair.

"Who do you suppose it could be?" Morticia asked, reveling in the feeling of her husband's hands on her.

"I'm not sure." Gomez admitted. "I never did think of Pugsley as the womanizer type."

Morticia's eyes widened. "He's ten." She sighed, then, nuzzling her head in Gomez's shoulder. "Which means, in the category where women are concerned, he isn't taking after you."

Gomez cocked his head, unable to keep from staring at his wife.

She was truly everything to him.

"That may be." He agreed. "However, just because I started earlier didn't mean I knew a thing about love." Gomez explained and kissed her hand. "I hadn't the slightest idea what love felt like until I had you." He said as he made his way to her inner wrist. "And you, my dearest, have completely consumed me since I first laid eyes on you."

Morticia closed her eyes as he made his way up her arm, and then she kissed him when she could no longer tolerate the distance between their lips… their tongues.

The two stayed in bed until the clock hit 10:57.

Morticia shivered a bit, wrapping her husband's arms tighter around her for warmth.

Gomez, noticing this, kissed Morticia's forehead. "I will be right back." He said as he got out of bed. "You stay right here, my dearest." His lips met her hand. "I'm going to draw you a nice, hot bath."

"As much as I hate your leaving me…" Morticia began, adjusting the satin pillows behind her. "I am more than willing to accept your reason." She replied.

Gomez grinned. "I thought so." He kissed her one last time, passionately before entering the bathroom.

Eyes momentarily closed, in blissful ecstasy, Morticia lied flat on her back and exhaled, amorously.

…..

Pugsley had -admittedly- arrived fifteen minutes early. He was normally fairly punctual; but this time, it was special. This time, he was waiting for someone. Someone who wanted to see him, and didn't make him feel like he wasn't the same. And… didn't make him feel like he needed to be.

It was 10:58. Two minutes left.

Hastily, he tried to remember everything his parents had taught him.

As frequently as he and his sister laughed and/or shuddered at their parents' open obsession and adoration for one another, they had been taught a great deal. Not just to always knock before entering a room (especially if that room had the nicknames, _Mon Cher Cara Mia_ painted on it in black, elegant writing), or to avoid being within a ten-foot radius from them if their mother was speaking French and their father had that look on his face… and there was a doorway present.

Pugsley went through a mental checklist of the things he had been taught over the years: (1) _Treat her like the lady she is, and-_ he was a bit young for that other part, yet. But even still, he felt that he could show that he knew she was more than just a lady in ways other than letting her bite him; or worse, biting her. (2) _Always be there for each other. Talk openly to one another, be honest. Don't be awkward._ Pugsley always wondered how his parents did it. No matter what kind of day they had, they were always there for one another. His mother was always there for his father to talk to -and hold the séances with Máma around the time of his uncle's disappearance- and his father was always there with compliments, a horrour movie on the couch and a massage if his mother's day had tried her. And he always sort of wished he could do it, too. Most married couples were like overly horny best friends. But his parents were different. They could not live without one another. They were soulmates. (3) _Don't blame each other when something goes wrong or one of your children does something bad._ Pugsley was very glad his parents never did that. Not only did it make everything easier growing up, but it saved he and his sister the blame they watched other kids go through when their parents argued. (4) _Put each other first, but also keep a strong sense of family devotion._ Pugsley thought that must have been hard to do, have such a strong sense of family while you're that devoted to each other's happiness. But, for his parents, it seemed so effortless. He guessed it was because they both loved their family so much, and were happy with their family. God, it was so complicated! Maybe he should ask? He didn't have time! What he did have time for was to retain that important lesson, it was almost 11:00. (5) _Never lose your passion or love, no matter how long you have been together or how hard things get._

Pugsley adjusted the cuffs of his undershirt. Was there anything he has forgotten? He could fill up a novella of lessens his parents' relationship had taught him; he was sure. But his nerves…

"Pugsley?"

Pugsley jumped.

"Sorry." Scarlett didn't mean to frighten the poor boy

"It's alright." Pugsley replied instantaneously, straightening up. He then took notice of her, and how absolutely stunning she looked. _Treat her like the lady she is._ "You look beautiful." He said.

Scarlett had tried to look her best for him today.

Her dress was short, and extended down to her knees. It was silk, and ivory with black, gothic designs on the inside but black with hints of blood red on the outside. It had long sleeves, and was cut in a sweetheart neckline. The back of the dress laced up with blood red laces, and the neckline was lined in small, blood red lace.

She wore no stockings. Her shoes were gothic, black, heeled boots with soles that matched the laces of her dress.

Her nails were black. She wore a black, thin, velvet choker with a ruby crystal pendant, dangling from it. A few elegant, dark-themed rings adorned her fingers. And their colours were within the spectrum of ivory, black, red and silver.

"Thank you." Scarlett would have blushed. "I don't know where my mother got this dress. But it's my favourite, now." She looked him up and down. "You look handsome." She complimented.

Pugsley was beaming. _"Really?"_ He then realized how ridiculous he must have sounded and quickly leaned back a bit and _piffed_. "I mean, thanks. Yea, this is my favourite suit. I wore it to my Aunt Evanora's funeral."

"I'm sorry for your loss." Scarlett appeared genuinely intrigued, however at his statements. "But that's fascinating." She went on to tell him, "I have a dress like that. I wore it for my mother's one hundred-thirty-third birthday."

Pugsley's eyes widened. "Your mother's one hundred and thirty three?"

Scarlett nodded. "She is."

"She looks good for it." He said.

"Thanks." Scarlett responded. "We probably have the biggest mother-daughter age difference of anyone outside of our realm."

"Oh, yea." Pugsley realized. "You're only twelve, so that's…"

"One hundred-twenty-one years." Scarlett told him.

"That's…" Pugsley gulped, unsure of how to say it. _Be honest._ "A lot of years."

"It is."

Pugsley did not want to wait any longer. So, he figured he would cut to the chase. "I asked you to meet me by Cousin Cordelia's grave to prove a point." He said.

Scarlett stiffened. "What's the point?"

"The point is that everything is okay. What happened at the funeral was an accident. I know that." Pugsley explained.

"Yea, Wednesday's angry. She gets angry all of the time, especially at me." He laughed, then stopped, abruptly. "But I'm not angry. Why should I be? I like you, Scarlett." He said. "And I liked going off to the attic with you or you, me and Wednesday and having fun or being tortured- which was fun!" Pugsley expressed. "And… I think you're the best vampire that's ever existed. I mean, cooler than _Dracula_ , even."

"He was my great grandfather, I think." Scarlett stated.

" _Woah."_ Pugsley was in awe. "Anyway," He started up again. "I like you and I like being with you and I don't want to stop being with you. Especially, not over some prank gone wrong." The boy was out of breath, now. " _That's_ the point."

"Thank you, Pugsley." Scarlett was smiling, now. "I like being with you, too."

Pugsley took her hand. "Good." He said. "Because the real reason I invited you out here was so that I could show you a secret part of the estate."

He began to lead her then, through the cemetery. The children laughed and talked as they half-ran through paths of tombs and headstones.

There were a few dark, tree-looking plant lifeforms here and there. But the further they walked, the more they saw. Soon, as they passed the caves, the shallow graves and the unmarked, abandoned well, an entire world opened up before their eyes.

There was a swamp, bogs and layers upon layers of gloom. It seemed to stand out in that summer day's grey cold. However, everything in this new world looked as though it would do so in any given season.

As the pair ventured deeper -the mansion slowly fading in the distance- they came to a clearing.

It was the most mesmerizing thing Scarlett had ever seen. The grass was not overgrown in the slightest, yet hadn't been tended to in years. There was a circle of decaying greenery, twelve feet high. Wilted black and crimson roses were entwined within the thorny, longstanding yet decrepit vines that weaved within the… one could not call them bushes. They had the appearance of bushes -had the apocalypse truly hit earth, as the conspiracy theorists claimed it would- yet they were so tall. So… incredibly tall.

The pair had noticed not, the watery woe that had begun to fall from the sky as they had been walking.

The tears of the clouds poured out from their puffy, smoke-coloured forms (The force of grievance that had discouraged them from fully exposing the depth their grief had subsided. Now, it was time.); not quite as strong as they had the day of the funeral. In quantity, their drops of watery sorrow were large. However, they were soft in both sound and touch.

The scene was completely enthralling.

As was she.

Pugsley, having slowed down enough for Scarlett to take in her surroundings, began to walk again (never once letting go of her hand).

He led her to a small opening in the decaying… bushes, after (unbeknownst to his infatuation) plucking a wilted black rose for her, and neatly tucking it into his pocket. He pushed on the opening -small enough for a mouse to scurry through- and led her into the concealed, bleak enchantment that was hidden from most of the world.

But Scarlett Blood was not most of the world.

Within the walls of the decaying overgrowth, was a morbid faerieland.

To begin, the decaying overgrowth was not such on the inside. It was healthy, middle-aged. Still twelve feet, yes. But it was by no means, soon to decease (or in some respects, already there).

A black gazebo was the centerpiece of it all. It, too, had seen earlier years. However, it was gorgeously historic. It had small arches, supporting the structure of the roof. Supporting the roof, itself, were black, spiral wood pieces and of course, the midnight-coloured fence enclosing it. One miniature gargoyle was perched on either side of the gazebo's first of its three front steps.

Encircling the gazebo was a pond, of a most unusual shape and form. It was just that, a large pond somehow flowing under the gazebo (one was only able to reach it by way of conveniently placed stepping stones). Leading to the large pond were several streams, flowing out at all angles and seemingly connected to the overgrowth. Beginning at the streams were a series of grey rocks (most of them could be considered stepping stones), leading to a single path of merely a few of them when they reached the pond. The stepping stones of the pond led to the steps of the gazebo.

There were thirteen, thin, dark brown Tiki torches placed between and at the end of every stream. They were not lit. But at night, they could be. At one point, they were.

This place appeared to be a secret, and in most respects, it was. But another pair had been here before. And if not for that pair, Pugsley would not have been there to show Scarlett that beautiful place; let alone become a part of its history.

"Do you like it?" Pugsley asked, blinking in the rain.

Scarlett could not stop staring at the beautiful world Pugsley had shown her.

Could she carry on with… was she truly… was this cruel of her to-

"Oh, yes." Scarlett replied, gleefully. "This is what you wanted to show me?"

"Uh-uh." Pugsley's hand took her over to the stepping stones. "But it isn't over yet. Come on!" He hopped on to one of the stones.

"What?" Scarlett gulped, letting go of his hand.

"The stones." Pugsley pointed down at them. "Most of them are stepping stones."

"Most _of them?"_ Scarlett shook her head. How deep was that pond?

"Yea. It'll be alright." Pugsley assured her. _Always be there for each other._ "I promise, I won't let go of your hand. At all. If you get scared, just squeeze my hand really tight and I will find a way to get us across without you having to do a thing." He promised her. "But I'm sure it won't come to that."

Scarlett nodded, hesitantly. "Alright." She took his hand. "You won't let go?"

"Never." Pugsley stepped to the second stone, waiting for Scarlett to step on the first. "I promise." And he flashed the most genuine smile.

Stone after stone, Pugsley held Scarlett's hand as she stepped across. While she almost slipped once, Pugsley held true to his promise and grabbed her hand. Feeling fearless after one look into his brave eyes, Scarlett continued stepping on. In the rain, the two laughed and leapt from stone to stone; Pugsley, constantly looking back at Scarlett to make sure she was alright.

She was.

Soon, the two reached the steps of the gazebo. And slowly, grasping her hand (small, compared to his own), Pugsley led Scarlett up the steps and inside.

Once there, Scarlett jumped up, elated. "That was the greatest thing I've ever done!"

Pugsley was just happy he did something right. He made a girl- he made _Scarlett_ , happy. "Really?" Pugsley laughed. "I think, that goes the same for me too."

Scarlett wanted to hug him. But, she stayed put. "Stepping on stones in the rain… who knew it could be so thrilling?"

"I meant because I was doing it with you." Pugsley didn't think he could say something that perfect. Usually, he was the awkward one but the phrase just, flowed. The feelings… just, flowed. He took a step closer. "I miss being with you. I miss being with you and Wednesday together but I also miss being with _just_ you." He said. " _Nothing_ that has happened is your fault. And…" He sighed, shifting a little on his feet. "I wanted to be with you so badly at the funeral. I didn't go to you all this time because I was being a dumb coward and I'm sorry." He admitted. "But, when everyone was dancing at the funeral… all I could think was that I wanted to be dancing with you."

"Oh, Pugsley…" Scarlett looked as though she was going to cry.

"Scarlett" Pugsley took her hands. "I lost a dance with you at Cousin Cordelia's funeral. But, I was hoping that I could have it back now." _Treat her like the lady she is._ "So, Ms. Blood," He cleared his throat. "May I have this dance?"

….

Black combat boots walked softly; the young girl whom wore them, carrying a large kitchen knife (stained with a bit of blood).

Down the unending hallway, Wednesday Addams walked. She sought out her younger brother, whom had (unbeknownst to him) been playing Hide Shriek with her for the past half an hour now.

And while he was unaware, that was part of the game. Rather, it was rule number one.

" _Pugsley?_ _I have a-_ surprise, for you…" Wednesday's voice trailed off as she stopped in front of her brother's bedroom door.

There was an envelope, miniscule in size. It was unopened, but in her brother's handwriting, addressed to Scarlett.

Wednesday picked it up, and a cold feeling swept over her.

It was not the draft in the mansion.

Following her instincts, Wednesday opened her brother's overly-creaky bedroom door with ease (not of mind, but at the very least of physicality).

Inside, everything looked in order. But Pugsley's sister was like her mother: _she knew to look beyond the clear image presented._ So, she did.

She searched Pugsley's room, expertly so it appeared as though she had never been there. Wednesday looked through drawers, under his bed, in his closet, even inspected his window ledge.

She did not quite know what she was looking for. All she knew was that she had to find it, as it was an answer. It was an answer.

It was an answer.

Wednesday's eyes scanned the top of Pugsley's dresser. And that was when she found it.

She opened the note (as it had already been, and she knew her brother would not think twice about it), and her blood ran hot.

 _I will be there at 11:00 am._

That bat had her brother.

But Wednesday would be damned if she got the chance to suck his blood.

Placing the note back atop her brother's dresser, she ran out of his bedroom. Faster than the bolts of electricity she willed to course through his body bi-daily, she bounded down three flights of stairs and through several hallways until she reached the back door that led to the cemetery.

She opened it, hurriedly -not bothering to even check if the damned thing had shut behind her- and ran out into the rain, calling out for her brother.

….

Pugsley twirled his infatuation in his arms. He had been dancing with her, rather successfully, for the past half an hour now. And he was loving every second of it.

Neither of them were watching as the skies' tears crashed against the rocks, or dissolved into the pond below them, or the surrounding streams. The phenomenon was indeed beautiful, but not -to the besotted pair- nearly as stunning as the wonder they witnessed when they looked into the other's eyes.

At least, that was how Pugsley perceived it. And it was magical.

He dipped the thin young girl in his arms, and spun her around to the cloud's mourning music, even breaking the melodic slow dancing once every so often to waltz.

He never once broke eye-contact with her.

Pugsley (having observed this interaction take place between his parents on numerous occasions) put a hand around Scarlett's waist. He then gently yet firmly grasped her hand with his free one, while her free hand was placed on his shoulder.

Scarlett -smile never leaving her face- shivered in the cold.

Pugsley broke the dance, momentarily. _I can remind her she is more than just a lady in other ways…_ "Here," He removed his suit coat, as quickly as he could. "Take my jacket."

Scarlett put the too-big coat on, and looked up at him.

In her eyes… it seemed as if the simple act of selflessness was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for her.

Tears (although this went unnoticed by the oblivious Pugsley) had just about formed, in the corners of her eyes. But they had been stopped, and sucked back in… as though they had never been there at all.

Scarlett adjusted the jacket (unsure of how long the adjustment would truly last), and wrapped her arms around his neck, embracing him.

Questioning it, not, Pugsley hugged her back.

He swayed back and forth, slowly; and gradually, the two began to dance again.

The dance was slow, and the pair were pressed closer together; communicating through a series of movements directed by feeling, rather than words.

Pugsley, as he held Scarlett, tightly and continued their dance… felt something. It wasn't awkward. It wasn't fear. It wasn't discomfort or nervousness, or… nausea. It was…

Around Scarlett, he couldn't do anything wrong. And if he did do something wrong, she let him fix it and didn't make him feel foolish. He felt like he could be himself around her. But for the first time, he felt like being himself was… okay.

He wasn't the kid who peed during a simple game of Deception. He was Pugsley Addams: on a date with a sweet, wonderful girl (who happened to be a vampire). And who wasn't half-bad himself.

He had been twirling her in his arms, and had the time of his life doing it. He had looked into her eyes, and seen everything that was right in his life.

He had realized what it meant when he passed by people on the street or in his own house, on his way to the kitchen, when he heard those words that were nothing more than just those… words, to him as he pressed closer to her and…

She whispered in his ear, _"Thank you."_

He was in love with her.

….

" _Pugsley!"_ Wednesday called out, over the rain.

She had been searching for her brother for what had to be close to an hour, including when she had been under the impression that they were playing Hide Shriek.

She had ventured so far from the mansion that it was but a speck in the distance.

Did they really own this much property?

" _Pugsley?"_ She called again, anxiety weaving a venomous spider's web into her vocal cords.

She could not find her brother, nor the bat he was besotted with, no matter which direction she chose to turn.

She ran further; through layers of fog, past the bogs, the swamp, the caves and trees galore… until she stopped; falling to her knees, out of breath.

However, she had ceased to continue searching for her brother, as her instincts suggested… she may have already found him.

Wednesday willed herself to stand.

When she did, she found herself staring at twelve feet of decaying bushes.

….

Scarlett felt a terrible burning sensation in her gut.

She had to leave, _now._

Scarlett broke the spell, breaking their dance mid-twirl.

What was envisioned as graceful, ended up quite the opposite.

The break, mid-way resulted in a frozen, awkward standstill.

Pugsley laughed, causing Scarlett to laugh as well.

"Is everything alright?" Pugsley questioned.

Scarlett nodded. "Yes, everything's alright." She hesitated in her next sentence, almost… coming up with her words, on the fly. But not quite. "My, mother is calling me." She explained.

"Oh." Pugsley figured her hearing must be excellent, in regard to other vampires; or something like that. "Would you like me to walk you back?" He offered her his arm.

"No!" Scarlett jumped. "Sorry. No, thank you. She… wants to see me alone. Don't worry. It's nothing serious." She smiled at him. "Thank you, for taking me here. And for the dance. I had a wonderful time with you."

Pugsley would have hugged her, had she not turned into a black bat before his eyes… and flown off.

This new ability of hers (rather, it was new to Pugsley) was not alarming to the enamoured young boy in the slightest. Quite the contrary, it was utterly fascinating. It was just another thing he could add to the growing list of reasons why he… loved her.

Pugsley Addams loved Scarlett Blood.

He was left, smiling in the rain, with no jacket… and not a care in the world. It mattered, not, that he was without a jacket. As _she_ , was with one.

" _Pugsley!"_ A voice called to him from across the pond and streams connected to it.

Pugsley looked up, recognizing the voice of his elder sister at any given time and/or place. _"Wednesday?"_ He was confused. Why was she here? How?

Wednesday rolled her eyes. _"Yes! What were you doing out here?"_ She asked, afraid of the answer; having found evidence of deception (and _not_ the game).

" _I was…"_ Pugsley was unsure of how to respond to her question. Should he lie? Likely, she would catch him before he said the first sentence. _"I'll explain later!"_ He decided.

Wednesday groaned. Then, she noticed something around his neck that concerned her more than she already was. _"Is that father's tie?"_

" _No!"_ It wasn't a lie. Their father had given it to him. If it was anybody's tie now, it was his.

Wednesday knew he was being a smartass. She had seen that tie on numerous occasions; and it had, at one point, belonged to their father.

" _It_ was Wednesday shook her head, becoming soaked. _"Come inside, before you ruin it!"_

Pugsley sighed. _"Wednesday- "_

" _Now!"_ Wednesday demanded.

No more words needing to be exchanged, Pugsley climbed down the gazebo steps and hopped over the stepping stones to his older sister; then allowing her to lead him back to the mansion.

….

Darkness.

The only light came from the candles, strategically placed along the window; curtains pulled over it, the majority of the way, so as to let the skies' tears be partially seen by the lovers who desired to watch them fall.

Music, gothic and slow -originating from… somewhere or other- played, quietly. And a small, black, porcelain bowl of bloodberries rested atop the edge of the tub.

Mrs. Addams had been sitting in the clear, hot water, eyes closed, for… she had lost track of time and it didn't matter. All that mattered was now, and her amour… and how good it felt when his hands were on her like this.

Her head rolled back, and she let out a blissful sigh as her husband's hands moved between her shoulders and her neck, massaging.

Morticia had completely forgotten the world existed as Gomez gave her shoulders a firm squeeze. She groaned. "God, I love you."

Gomez kissed her head. "I love you, too, my dearest." He replied.

Morticia took a bloodberry from the bowl and popped it into her mouth. Ever the lady, she waited until she swallowed to speak. "Thank you." She said.

A simple statement, it may have been. However, there was nothing simple about its context.

"Tish…" Gomez shook his head, grateful every day, beyond imagination, for his encantadora. "Mi hermosa diosa, while I will gratefully accept your thank you; you don't have to." He told her, adjusting for his mouth to be at level with her ear. His accent grew thicker with each passionate word he spoke to her. "Believe me, I live for your pleasure."

Morticia took another berry out of the bowl. "I know." She smirked.

Gomez growled, placing a kiss on her cheek.

Morticia held the berry up to Gomez, and he ate it… as well as biting part of her fingers.

Morticia slowly took her hand away, enjoying the sensation of his teeth against her skin and not wishing to part with its glorious memory.

Still, she raised an eyebrow and teased, "Haven't you ever been told not to bite the hand that feeds you?"

Gomez laughed. "Not by you." His hands concentrated on her neck, applying a bit of pressure. "From what I seem to recall, once you've been strapped to that wheel… you're begging me to bite you."

Morticia moaned at the placement of his hands. "I wouldn't say _begging._ " Though her words were said in jest, her voice was laced with sensuality.

"I would." Gomez grinned, keeping it up. "Please, mon diable. _Sil vous plait._ " He imitated.

Morticia rolled her eyes, facing him as much as she could. _"Tish,"_ Two could play at this game. "I don't care that he is my cousin. He committed the most unforgivable sin." She paused for dramatic affect. " _He looked at you._ He looked at you with fire in his eyes, and put his hands on your hips. And I was _insanely jealous_." She was incredibly good a keeping herself from laughing. _"You're mine."_

"Damn right you are." Gomez kissed her. "And I am yours; for eternity, cara mia." He told her. "And your impression was very good." He shook his head, and gave somewhat of a silent laugh.

"I try." Morticia turned fully and put a hand on his cheek. "Of course, I could never pull off that look."

Gomez raised an eyebrow. "What look?"

"The way you look at me." Morticia elaborated. "You've always looked at me with this… _expression._ I can't explain it. But it's always made me feel like I'm the only one in the room. Like all you see is me. Your eyes have such a passion in them…"

Gomez kissed her hand. _"That look,"_ He began. "comes naturally, cara mia. I couldn't control it even if I desired to. I look at you the way I do because of how much I love you… how much I completely adore you. When I see you, all others simply become nonexistent. My beautiful Tish, from the moment I first laid eyes on you, I was yours. My heart, my soul, my being, my entire life was and is yours and you, my dearest… you are the most wonderful woman there is, ever was and ever will be. You are an enchantment that I am -fortunate is such an understatement of a word, and I wish there were a larger one- to call my wife, and the mother of our children. And all of that comes out in the way I look at you."

Morticia had not been so close to tears at one of his beautiful, grand statements in weeks. But this was… different. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and met his lips for an intensely passionate kiss.

"I couldn't live without you, mon amour." She told him, between kisses. "I love you." She kissed him again, more passionate than the last time, and felt his hands explore the parts of her he could reach. "Mmm… I love you."

"I love you, too, cara mia." Gomez replied, returning her kisses with his own, equally as amorous.

Morticia then watched as Gomez took a bloodberry from the bowl and popped it into her mouth.

She came back with the same trick, feeding one to him and leaning on the side of the tub for support.

The lovers laughed and talked, and shared both berries and kisses… all that existed was the two of them. Their love.

And the knock at the door.

Morticia -now back in the position she had been in before the two had shared their _impressions_ of one another- stiffened, afraid.

Sensing her tension, Gomez did his best to ease it (first, physically). As his hands rid her of her physical strain, he planted a kiss on her head.

"I am not going anywhere, querida." He said. "Alright? It's likely just Máma, and even so…" His voice trailed off.

Morticia sighed, relieved and put a delicate hand atop his.

Soon after the mysterious, single knock at the door, Morticia was wrapped up in Gomez's robe; and he carried her back to their bed.

Lights off despite it being early mid-day, and curtains mostly closed; Gomez held his black angel in his strong arms, and the lovers snuggled in the dark bliss of their bedroom.

Morticia nuzzled her head in Gomez's shoulder, pulling up their blankets. "Do you think Pugsley met with the girl he was waiting for?"

Gomez thumb romantically ran over her cheek. "Of course I do, querida." He replied. "Any girl would be lucky to go out with our Pugsley."

"Our children never fail to make me proud." Morticia smiled.

Gomez nodded, in agreement with her. "Do you remember their last school play?"

"Yes." Morticia's eyes reflected reminiscence. "Wednesday was ecstatic when she found out she was to portray the first witch in Macbeth."

"Her mother's child," Gomez grinned and kissed his wife's hand. "She never did show it on her face."

Morticia's lips met his, passionately, before she spoke again. "And Pugsley was so excited to make the callbacks for tombstone number one."

"I thought he was going to hit the floor when he was given the role." Gomez recounted the memory.

"We still have that picture of our first witch and our tombstone number one, hanging upstairs in the attic." Morticia would never forget how happy they all were the day that picture was taken.

She and Gomez had held each other's hands all through the play. The entire family stood up and applauded, louder than anyone in the auditorium when Wednesday and Pugsley had taken their bows.

And when the children had gone off stage and ran to their overjoyed family in the auditorium… the picture was taken. The picture was taken; that was then hung in the attic and proudly shown to anyone who visited the Addams' mansion for the next year-and-a-half.

"And there it will stay." Gomez promised. "Our Wednesday… I couldn't believe that Sherman Elementary was putting on a production of Macbeth until she told us she had pressured the school to do so." He chuckled. "Creating a petition and forcing all of the students, from fifth grade and up, to sign it."

"By threatening them with masochistic violence if they didn't pen their signature on the dotted line." Morticia recollected.

Gomez stroked her hair, and pulled her closer (any closer and the two would absorb each other). "She was only sorry that most of them agreed."

"Most of them?"

"Timothy Stein." Gomez attempted to jog her memory.

"Oh, of course." Morticia now remembered the young boy.

He picked a fight with the wrong ten-year-old child.

"One visit to the attic via well-thought-out abduction, a game of Hide and Shriek, and a round on the electric chair and that boy would have been willing to sign a reverse Treaty of Echota!" Gomez laughed, taking a cigar from his holder on their nightstand, to smoke.

"You're terrible." Morticia playfully hit his chest. However, she couldn't help but laugh at his history reference as well. "Je t'aime, mon diable." She wrapped her arms around his neck.

Gomez growled. "Ti amo, cuore mia…"

"That one's new." Morticia smiled. "I love it, mon extase adorée…" She captured his lips and everything behind them, then, for an intense and passionate kiss.

Gomez ran his hands through her silky hair; and they traveled, slowly, sensually into her borrowed robe (that would likely be discarded, soon). He groped her breast, eliciting a gasp from his darling one… and explored her further, adoring her…

 _Knock._

Morticia's eyes met those of her husband's. "Don't try to tell me that's Máma." Quoting Gomez, she added, "She never knocks."

Gomez smoked his cigar, a creeping suspicion that his wife was right.

And that it was not his mother-in-law.

"No. She doesn't." Gomez agreed. "But perhaps she's learned after all these years?" He suggested.

"I don't think so." Morticia shook her head. "No, her walking in during our moments has become so habitual; it would be almost impossible for her to stop."

Gomez caressed her cheek, and eyed her seductively. "Three weeks ago…"

"Right before Máma interrupted us…" Morticia picked up on the narrated memory.

"I had you tied to the bed." Gomez's face was less than a centimeter from hers. "It took all of my willpower not to take you immediately." His breathing became heavier as he grew more impassioned.

"Oh, I know."

Morticia's hands played with the burgundy nightshirt (with elbow-length sleeves, worn with black pajama bottoms) that he was now clothed in.

"I never stop craving the feel of your teeth… biting down on me." Morticia admitted (it was not the first time). "Call me a sadist; I love it when you draw blood."

Gomez's eyes burned with lust. "You are." He said. "As am I. And by God, do I adore you." He kissed her; and it was the most passionate kiss they had shared that day.

 _Knock._

Gomez gave a great internal sigh. He knew who it was.

It had to be.

He reluctantly got out of bed, taking Morticia's hand. "I will answer the door, my darling." He said, and kissed her hand.

Morticia sat up a bit, situating the pillows, comfortably behind her back and facing the door and making herself decent, in case it was one of the children.

Gomez walked to the door, slowly, as if buying his time… and opened it.

There stood Regina.

She was dressed for the day in a long, gothic dress that extended down past her ankles in the back. Silk, and tight; it was the darkest shade of crimson. The off-shoulder, cut-out sleeves of the dress were long. It was cut in a deep, off-shoulder neckline.

A black, gothic choker, adorned with rubies was worn with the dress. Her high heels were black.

Her nails were painted black, and her hair was curled, loosely. Her lips were blood red, and her makeup was as it usually was… black, and red.

She peered into the bedroom, and her eyes fell to Morticia.

Morticia stiffened, and her own eyes looked coldly at her.

Regina, for whatever reason, did not respond.

She turned her attention back to Gomez. "Gomez? It took you long enough to answer the door. I thought you were dead." She joked.

"No; not dead." Gomez responded. _Not yet._ He thought. _Another day of this and I'm there._

"What a relief." Regina smiled… _her_ smile. "I've never seen the fourth floor in its entirety."

"Really?" Gomez asked, feigning interest and taking a puff of his cigar.

" _Really."_ Regina confirmed. "I need someone I'm comfortable with to show me around." She took a single step closer to him. "That, and I can't seem to find my daughter." She told him. "Scarlett… that girl is always running off."

Morticia scoffed.

This caused Regina to shoot her a brief, piercing glance.

Morticia paid her glance little mind. _That woman can keep track of her daughter, just as well as she can keep track of her hormones._ She thought to herself. _Losing Scarlett seems to be an-ever popular excuse. But, please; this time, could he… just-_

Gomez turned to his wife, and the look in his eyes… was that of the most sincere apology.

He gestured out the door, then. And said, "Well, we had better find her, then."

He took a puff of his cigar, and waited for Regina's… smile, to flash before she walked a couple of steps ahead, out of the doorway.

And he left.

Morticia watched as he left. She watched, in… emptiness. There was a vacancy, in the room, in the bed… in her. She stared at the door… feeling lost, and sick. Incredibly sick.

….

The rain had lasted throughout the day, not stopping for anything… anyone. The clouds had mourned, the entire day. No great force of grievance could stop them now, even if it tired.

It dare not do a thing like that.

Dinner had not been so… quiet, as it had been for the past couple of weeks due to Ms. Blood being there.

However, in her absence, the strain left in the wake of the vampire seemed easier to bare. Contrary, it was as if the strain was not there at all.

The smell of freshly roasted yak wafted through the historic, gothic (and much to the Addams' delighted comfort, _haunted_ ) dining room. Rare chameleon's eye blinked at its consumers from the plate upon which it lied. A salad

made with Kinkajou blood and Esmeralda's secret ingredient(s), sat in bowls… stared at by a set of stray chameleon's eyes. Water, Bloody Mary's and Máma's _boisson spéciale de la maison_ swished, slightly in their respectful glasses.

The family conversed; talking and laughing. Speaking about their mornings, noons and evenings to one another whilst they ate.

The fire of the candelabrum in the middle of the brown, rectangular table, burned with such intensity… flames, dancing with such orange exuberance.

It was as if the strain, was not there. At all.

At least, it would have been.

Tension (and not the usual kind) emitted from the couple at the head of the table, whom always radiated passion. And the pair still did. But they weren't… something was very much off.

Wednesday and Pugsley shared a concerned expression.

Pugsley, needing to speak with his sister, grabbed a pencil and small notepad from the back of his shorts' pocket. Why or how he came to acquire this, he had forgotten by now. The important thing was, it was here.

 _Why are they eating?_ Pugsley wrote on the notepad, passing it and the pencil to his elder sister.

Wednesday took the notepad and writing utensil, formulating a response. _I don't know. The only way their food ever made it into their mouths was via each other's tongues._

She passed the paper and pencil back. Thus, beginning the cycle of communication.

 _Eww! Wednesday!_

 _What? It's true._

 _I don't like this. It's weird and I'm less hungry than I would be if I were watching them eat each other's faces._

 _As am I. I was expecting mother to make a comment about Máma's boisson… French thing._

 _And?_

 _Nothing. She didn't say a think. She just… ate it._

 _What do we do? I'm looking at them right now._

 _And?_

 _I'm disturbed._

 _That's not what I meant, you idiot! I meant, what do you see?_

 _Our parents._

 _How do you dress yourself?_ Wednesday was ready to throw down the notepad. _That isn't what I meant!_ _GOD!_

 _But, I thought there was no-_

Wednesday took the notepad from him. _Stop writing! Father usually looks like he wants it all through dinner and mother usually looks the same but… different. Father usually ends up kissing her hand and before you know it, we're looking away because he's trying to suck her face off!_

 _At least, that's what's SUPPOSED to happen._ Pugsley almost sighed, loudly.

 _So, that isn't happening._ Wednesday inferred, then looking up and confirming the truth for herself.

It wasn't.

 _Alright. We have to do something. For once in the past two weeks, I want to have a regular dinner. That, and I… miss the way it was last night._ She admitted.

 _Me too. What are we going to do?_

 _Be subtle._ Wednesday wrote. _Follow my lead._

"Is that a new ring mother?" Wednesday asked, figuring she needed to brush up on her acting skills.

Morticia didn't seem to notice the poor job her daughter had done, and gracefully set down the Bloody Mary she had just sipped. "No, darling. It isn't." She replied, politely. "Why?"

"Why?" Wednesday looked to her brother.

She was hoping he would pick up her plan: the ring their mother was wearing on her right pointer finger, was the ring their father had gotten her for their anniversary last year.

Pugsley nodded, figuring he had picked up his sister's idea. "That's a very pretty ring mother." He pointed to the ring on her left hand, on the finger next to her pinky. "Gee, Wednesday and I were, uh… just wondering who got that for you."

Morticia eyed her son, strangely. "That's my wedding ring, Pugsley."

Wednesday would have face-palmed, had she not possessed the intelligence to understand that it would ruin the plan.

"Oh." Pugsley's eyes shifted, nervously. "Gee, did I say that one?" He laughed. "I meant… that one." He then pointed to a completely black ring, with black diamonds on it, on her left middle finger.

Wednesday's eyes enlarged. She wanted to stop her brother, as she knew the answer as to where _that one_ came from but it was to late.

It was a good thing her mother was stoic.

Morticia took a short breath in and was a bit confused as her children never took such an interest in her jewelry before. Still, seeing no reason to lie to them, she replied, "My father, Pugsley."

Pugsley's lips tightened.

"Of course, you know he died before you were born. But he was a wonderful man." Morticia explained.

Esmeralda smiled, happy her husband's legacy was there to be passed on through her daughter (who was Charles' best friend up until he passed).

Pugsley looked at his sister, helpless. He wrote on the notepad, then, and passed it under the table.

 _I'm sorry. I didn't know about the ring! But father has his arm on her back. He looks sorry about her father._

 _Mother stiffened._ Wednesday wrote, passing the notepad and pencil back to her brother.

"Children, is everything alright?" Morticia questioned. "You've never asked so many questions about my rings before."

"Everything's fine, mother." Wednesday assured. "We were just curious. That's all."

Pugsley jabbed his fork into one of the eyes on his plate, mixing it with his salad and took a bite, unsure of what to do.

Wednesday kicked her brother from under the table, upset.

Pugsley's hands flew to his neck, instantaneously. He couldn't speak. He couldn't breathe.

He was choking.

Everyone at the table shared a look of alarm.

"Pugsley?" Gomez stood.

Pugsley shook his head.

Morticia stood up as well, then, rushing over.

Esmeralda shot up like a rocket from her place at the table and ran to her grandson. She forced his arms above his head. "Alright, hit him!"

Morticia knelt before her son, porcelain hand on his flaming cheeks as Gomez stood behind him and hit his back.

"Again!" Esmeralda commanded.

Pugsley began to cough.

Morticia held out her other hand. "Something's coming up!" She informed her mother and husband.

Esmeralda nodded. "Confirmed!" She saluted her daughter. "Again! For the win!" She ordered.

Gomez hit Pugsley again.

A medium-sized, rare chameleon's eye came flying out of Pugsley's mouth.

It landed directly in the palm of Morticia's hand.

Morticia gave the eye to her mother and placed both of her ice cold hands against her son's flushed face. "Pugsley? Are you alright?"

Pugsley nodded. "Yes, mother." He was able to say.

Morticia hugged him, relieved.

Gomez and Máma squeezed each one of Morticia's hands.

"Drink some water." Morticia ordered. "And don't put anymore eyes in your salad."

"Yes, mother." Pugsley drank his water once his family was again, seated.

After the incident, it was as it was when dinner began… but not when the day began, the day before.

Wednesday did not kick him again, but did write to him. What were they going to do?

 _Think of something. It was your idea to choke._ Wednesday passed the notepad and pencil back to her brother once she finished writing.

 _I didn't mean to choke. You kicked me!_ Pugsley nonverbally explained; re-opening their secret form of communication.

 _Details, details. We have to fix this._

 _My esophagus?_

 _No! Mother and father. Now, think._

Pugsley thought, he did. He was trying desperately to come up with anything to get everything back to the way it was.

He pondered and poured over one preposterous suggestion after another- he had an idea.

And it was… surely it would work. Surely.

He took a sip of his water. "We learned about the Bermuda Triangle in geography class today."

Gomez -ever since he and Regina had found Scarlett- had been trying, desperately to make things right with his Tish. He felt terribly guilty for leaving her this morning, and all he had wanted to do, all evening was make it right with her.

But, his encantadora was a stubborn woman.

Still, he would never stop trying.

And now -thanks to his son- he had just been given the opportunity to try again.

"Tish," Gomez took her hand, and felt her stiffen. It did not diminish his efforts; he moved closer to her. "the Bermuda Triangle…" He gently caressed her cheek.

Morticia, stubbornness wearing off, looked into his eyes.

"Devil's Island…" He continued, drawing her closer to him.

Morticia gave a small smile. "The Black Hole of Calcutta…"

" _Cara mia…"_ Gomez saw only her, looking at her in that passionate, adoring way he always did. "please. Mi amore de mi vida, my treasure, my everything… please." He didn't know exactly what he was begging for. Yet, at the same time, he knew with full certainty. He needed her, and he was truly sorry.

If only he could explain why- big picture. Big. Bloody. Picture.

Morticia wrapped her arms around his neck, her head pressed against his and her eyes, closed. _"Mon amour…"_ She leaned in.

And he kissed her.

The children shared a look of great relief, and continued their meal and conversations.

 _Gomez!_

That voice. No, it couldn't have been. She wasn't here and the house was too big for voices to travel that far.

 _Gomez!_

She was not here.

Gomez delved deeper into the kiss, concentrating only on his black angel and making it up to her.

 _Gomez!_

Goddamit! She was not here. No. She was not. Here.

" _Gomez!"_

Vampires!

"Yes?" Gomez stood up.

The voice did not disappear, it grew louder.

"I'll be there shortly!" He called, hand to his head.

Morticia raised an eyebrow. He wasn't-

Gomez kissed his wife, passionately.

And… he walked out of the dining room.

Morticia was stoic, but ice inside.

In all of their twenty-two years of marriage, Gomez Addams had never left his querida in the middle of dinner. Not once.

"Maybe she needed something-"

"Máma, _please_." Morticia shot her mother down; but she tried to do it as politely as she could.

Wednesday, Pugsley and even Scarlett sensed the tension in the room… and in Mrs. Addams.

"Mrs. Addams?" Scarlett raised a pale hand.

"Yes, Scarlett?" Morticia asked.

Scarlett was terrified (although she had no reason to be, Mrs. Addams was being very polite to the child). "May we be excused? Wednesday, Pugsley, and I?"

Morticia nodded. "Of course."

The children leapt from the table in unison, only stopping in the hallway to bid goodnight to Lurch and Thing (they would not be appearing downstairs for the rest of the night).

Morticia was still blank on the outside. She looked around the all but empty table. Then, saying nothing, she stood to exit the dining room, and walk upstairs.

Esmeralda, seeing no point to finishing dinner alone and seeing several points in checking on Morticia, followed her daughter out of the dining room.

Nobody moved. Nobody talked. Nobody breathed.

Because nobody was there.

….

 _Gomez!_

The voice came from the guest bedroom down one of the lengthy hallways on the third floor.

Gomez followed it, upset but wanting to get whatever it was she wanted over with.

He walked to the ebony, wooden door of Regina's guest bedroom.

It creaked, ear-piercingly as he pushed it open.

The bedroom was large (Although, compared to the size of Gomez and Morticia's, it was average-sized.) with dark brown-black, gothic wallpaper. The ceiling was black, giving the dark air of the room exactly that.

The floor was black porcelain with a heavy hint of blood red. It did not shine nor reflect, as the master bedroom of the house did. It simply… was.

There was a large black bookshelf (filled with horrour novels, most to do with vampires… extremely disorganized) quite near the enormous window; and covered by crimson and black, velvet drapes when it was sunny outside. A king-sized bed, with black, satin bedsheets was in close proximity to the center of the wall, in the room. A silk, black canopy with small pools of red at the very bottom was pulled back (circular, and pulled over the bed when the vampire who lied in it was asleep). The rest of the room fit Ms. Blood to a tea, and seemed as if it was erected in her name (an ebony vanity with ruby handles, a scarlet, luxury armchair near the window…).

Gomez's eyes landed on Regina.

She was sitting on her bed, draped over her pillows. She wore a blood red, lingerie, babydoll-type nightgown. Its sleeves were mere straps, and it was cut in a deep sweetheart neckline. There were small, black patterns of lace engraved in the breasts of the nightgown (rather; it was more lingerie than anything else).

She wore a black, gothic ankle bracelet.

Her nails were painted crimson, and her makeup was still on.

Gomez shook his head, shutting the door. This was completely absurd.

"Why did you do that?" He asked, in reference to her incessantly calling his name.

Regina looked him up and down. "I love the outfit." She said. "Black is a good colour on you, Gomez."

Dressed for the day, Gomez was clothed in black dress pants, a black, long-sleeved undershirt and a burgundy vest with swirled and spiraled, black, gothic designs covering it.

"Thank you." Gomez started up again. "Why did you do that?"

"Do what?" Regina question, a sly grin on her face.

Gomez was not going to play this game. "You know perfectly well what I'm referring to."

"Why did I make you leave in the middle of dinner?" Regina asked, rhetorically. "Don't worry, you're family doesn't think you're crazy. They heard me call for you." She paused. "Once."

" _Regina-"_

Regina let out a heavy sigh. "I wanted to have a bit of fun with you." She finally answered. "That, and you didn't answer the door this morning."

Gomez raised an eyebrow and said, coolly: "You played mind games with me, making me walk three flights of stairs with a splitting headache, to punish me for not answering the door this morning?"

"Why, is it too much for you?" Regina inquired, pretending to care.

"No." Gomez replied. "However, that seems like an awful lot of trouble to go to. Even for you."

Regina crossed her legs, sitting up a bit more. "I'd say _you don't know a damn thing about me_. But, I'd be wrong." She looked him in the eyes. "You know quite a bit about me." She looked over at her bookshelf, then back at Gomez. "No, I didn't call you all of the way up here just to stare at me in lingerie for a few seconds and leave. I need a favour."

Gomez took a cigar out of his vest pocket and lit it. "And that favour is?"

Regina did not answer his question. She instead came at him with one of her own. "You smoke quite frequently around me… more than usual. Why is that?"

"Smoking for me, is a pleasurable habit, Regina." Gomez began, beginning to smoke his cigar. "Occasionally, I forget to smoke if I'm entertained, busy, or having a good time. Not to mention, other things may come up…" Gomez recalled, thinking of beautiful memories with his Tish, no cigars necessary. "On the same token, I may increase my cigar intake, significantly, if I am stressed, bored or upset."

Regina stiffened. "Bored?"

"Or stressed, or upset." Gomez reiterated. "But feel free to take it how you like."

"I need you to help me rearrange the top part of that bookshelf over there." Regina gestured to the bookshelf near the window. "You would have to use the stepladder to get up there and I can't." She explained, uncrossing her legs and becoming somewhat vulnerable. "It's my fear of heights… from when Alistair used to threaten to throw me off the balcony." She shivered, seemingly at the mere thought of it.

Gomez began to walk over to the bookshelf, still speaking as he placed the stepladder. "Can't you turn into a bat?"

Regina swallowed, hard. "You know I can't do that anymore." She paused. "I can do other things."

Gomez recalled that night… he had found out she was a vampire and asked her if she could.

She couldn't.

All he knew was that she had traded the ability in, in her realm, for another… he never did find out what it was.

Stepladder having been placed, Gomez stepped onto it and began to rearrange the top of the bookshelf; and making haste… he wanted to be out of there as quick as possible.

There was a long period of silence.

Gomez, working and Regina, lying on the bed.

Finally, Regina broke the silence. "Gomez?"

Gomez did not look over at her. "Yes?"

Regina said, evenly: "There was no Alistair."

Gomez was unsurprised. "I had my suspicions." He admitted.

Regina nodded, watching him continue.

She needed not say anything more. And yet, she did.

"It doesn't mean I didn't have anywhere else to go." She added. "Why else would I be here."

"I don't know." Gomez blew the dust off of a book, then briefly looked back at her. "But I swear, Regina; if you so much as-"

"We had a deal." Regina snapped. "Or have you forgotten already? Twenty-two years can't destroy a picture painted in blood." She reminded him. "Now, do what I asked." She leaned in, then, seductively. "And… as far as everyone else was concerned, I _was_ battered. Why not come over here and help me heal?" She half-lying down, held up by her pillows. Her eyes were dead-set on him. "Or if not, you could come at me with those mortal fangs of yours and I could be your bloody little secret."

Gomez stopped the menial task, turning to her, draped over her bedsheets. _He_ stiffened, now. "It will be a cold day in hell before I touch you like that again."

Offended, Regina sat up and smoothed down her hair. _"Well,"_ She replied, under her breath, "in some religions, the temperatures in Hell are subzero."

Hearing this, Gomez responded. "Well," Having finished the task, he stepped down from the small ladder and walked toward the door, turning back to Regina. "It is a fortunate thing; where religion is concerned, I have always considered myself independent." He winked at her.

No desire to spend another minute in that room, Gomez left, shutting the door behind him.

Upset, replaced with love for his black angel.

…..

"In all of our years together, not once has he left in the middle of dinner." A distressed Morticia told her mother.

In her mother's bedroom, yet again, she found herself… voicing her upset. Why? Because she never truly had before (until recently), in her entire thirty-nine years of life and so this… it was aloud.

Esmeralda was her mother.

Máma questioned her daughter's statement. "Not even if you two were fighting?"

"We never fight, Máma. And we seldom argue." Morticia explained.

She considered fighting and arguing completely different things. Just like hurt, and pain.

Fighting was one thousand times worse than arguing. Fighting was when one said things they couldn't take back, it was yelling; there was no amount of passion in fighting. Love wasn't shown through fighting.

Love was not shown through arguing, either. But arguing was different. There was still some amount of passion in one's eyes during an argument. And one could call it a fight but it didn't change what it truly was. It was… different.

"And if we were in the middle of something;" Morticia continued. "usually, I would come downstairs for dinner and he would have a plate of bloodberries on the table, and either a dozen thorns or black roses. And/or a grand apology. His words were always what one me over. Every time." She smiled in reminiscence. "And if we were alone, he would carry me to the couch and take me in his arms. And soon those berries would be completely forgotten-"

" _I get it."_ Máma appeared rather disgusted. More to herself, she added, "So _that's why_ Wednesday and Pugsley pushed away their fruit bowls…"

Morticia looked at Máma, for a brief moment. "What?"

"Nothing." Esmeralda waved a dismissive hand. "I meant in the middle of dinner. If you were fight- _arguing_ , in the middle of dinner."

"Well, we…" Morticia thought, back to all of their twenty-two years together… their wonderful, passionate, loving, twenty-two years. She looked up at her mother, in realization. "We never were. We… never have."

Esmeralda's face was an expression of sympathy. She felt terrible for her daughter.

"We could go back to my spell idea." She suggested, walking over to her bookshelf. "This time, girl, I think you need it."

Morticia shook her head. "No thank you, Máma. The last thing I need is a reason for Gomez to distrust me."

Máma cocked her head, somewhat understanding. She paused, in ponderance. Then, she came up with the perfect solution. "Just blow up at him."

"Pardon?" Morticia met her mother's eyes.

"Ya don't want the spell!" Esmeralda defended her suggestion, then fully turned to her daughter. "I mean it, Morticia. Explode. Let loose. Go bat shit crazy. Let him have it. Blow up."

Morticia did not respond at first, as if toying with the suggestion but then quickly shook her head. "Máma, I can't. I'm Morticia. I don't, blow up."

"Why not?" Máma questioned. "It isn't gonna kill ya. Besides, it's good for your colon." She added, having no proof of either claim.

Arms crossed, elegantly, Morticia raised an eyebrow. "My colon?"

Máma nodded. "Sure."

Morticia sighed.

Esmeralda took a seat on the bed, next to her daughter. "I'm sorry." She said.

"For what?" Morticia asked. "I'm the ungrateful one, turning down all of your suggestions."

"Yes, but you're my daughter. You're supposed to give me hell." Esmeralda put a hand on Morticia's leg. "Your father was always better equipped at handling things with you." She admitted. "Not that you gave us much trouble. Your sister, on the other hand…" She grimaced, not wishing to get into _that_ story. "But you were always your father's child. You still are."

Morticia smiled. "You tried, Máma."

Máma shook her head. "Not hard enough. Not when you needed me, after he died." She squeezed her daughter's leg (from what she could due to the tightness of her dress). "But ever your father's child, you didn't say anything to me. You took a job, you became the backbone of our family… _you_ helped _me_ , when I couldn't handle the reality of his death." She took Morticia's hands, looking into her eyes. "Morticia, you are strong, and intelligent, and beautiful. And I don't know how to be your father. I'm sure he would help you better than I can because he _was you_ , in so many ways. I didn't know how to be your mother, because you… mothered yourself and for that, I'm sorry. But these past twenty-two years, I have been your mother. And I am not going to stop being your mother. I love you. Your father and I loved you from the moment you were born and I mean, really loved you." She laughed. "You had that man wrapped around your finger. When you were a child, he used to come home late from the funeral parlor every Monday, Wednesday and Thursday. And I was _convinced_ he was cheating on me." She shook her head. "Turns out, he was drivin' all over Timbuktu, acquiring things to add to your collection of… anything really. He was out late buying you dark poetry books, black dresses, gothic jewelry, spell books, taxidermy kits…"

Morticia broke into a smile. "What was the occasion?"

"There was no occasion." Esmeralda stated. "I had to say enough was enough when he came home and said, _Esmeralda, you'll never believe where I was today._ And I said, _Where were you today?_ And he turns to me and says, _I'll give you a hint: a place with a lot of cages._ I was just about ready to kick his ass out of the house until he told me he was at the pet store and he showed me the biggest cage I had ever seen with two vultures inside." Máma told her.

"Ah, yes, Hubert and Henry the first." Morticia remembered.

Esmeralda nodded. "And I said, _Charles, how are we going to keep up with two vultures in the house? You already have a pet lion!_ "

"What was his name; the first one?" Morticia thought for a moment. "Grimm!" She recalled.

" _This is madness!_ I said." Esmeralda continued. "And out of the darkness, you appeared. And a little five-year-old voice just looked at your father and asked, softly, _Father, is that for me?_ I swear, you just about melted his heart. I thought he was going to run to the store and pick up three more had I not reminded him we didn't have a money tree, growing in our backyard."

Morticia laughed. "I miss him."

Máma squeezed her daughter's hand. "I do, too."

"Thank you, mother." Morticia embraced her. "For everything."

After she did, she walked to the door, ready to… she wasn't completely sure, but she was sure that she had a mother, for the past twenty-two years. And that was a feeling she treasured.

"I still say you should make like an atomic bomb and just explode." Esmeralda advised.

Morticia opened the door. "We'll see, Máma." She responded, and walked out of her mother's bedroom, shutting the door behind her.

Esmeralda was left, sitting on her bed. And she could have sworn, as she fell to lie, flat on her back… she heard a feint, all-too familiar voice say: _Good job, angel._

….

Pugsley finished readying himself for bed, alone in his room.

All he could think of was the magnificent time he had had with Scarlett. Dancing with her, holding her in his arms, stepping over the stones… rain, falling all around them and unwittingly transforming itself into their music (as if the melodies of their hearts were not enough to dance to).

He smiled, looking in the mirror.

Externally, he saw a young boy, wearing grey stripped pajamas… with spiked up hair, brown eyes, and fair skin.

He saw no one, on the outside, from his family. He saw, simply, himself.

And for the first time… he was happy about it.

….

There was no light coming into the first-floor living room. The only light was produced via the two lamps that were strategically placed within the room, and some of the light from the kitchen.

Gomez, clothed in his black pajama bottoms and robe, was smoking a cigar and standing by the couch… unable to sit.

Where was she? She was not upstairs, in their bedroom. Nor was she in the cemetery. He had hoped she would be there. He desperately wanted to make up for the way things had gone today.

He had been… big picture- which he couldn't tell her about.

Where was she?

He looked up, noticing his black angel instantly.

She wore her long, black, gothic nightgown. It was silk, and formfitting. It had flowing, elbow-length sleeves and was cut in a dramatic V-neck.

Most of her makeup was off, but she was nonetheless stunning.

She wore black, elegant slippers (not than one could see due to the length of the nightgown).

The physical distance between the amorous pair was soul-crushing for the both of them. Yet, they stood.

"Tish," Gomez put out his cigar, discarding it. "I haven't seen you for what feels like an eternity." He attempted to make conversation. "I looked for you in the cemetery. I found that it hasn't stopped raining-"

" _That woman is a living nightmare."_ Morticia took a deep breath. "She calls you, for _no apparent reason_ and she, she _looks at you_ with those eyes like she wants to put you under some kind of strange, _spell_ and Gomez, that's _my job_. She walks up several flights of stairs to our bedroom, interrupts you in the middle of doing something _far more important_ than whatever the hell she needs you to do, only for her to claim you're the only one who can do it! As though our butler isn't perfectly capable of finding a missing piece of jewelry, or finding her daughter. That woman keeps better track of her daughter than she does of the way she looks at you and _I believe_ _that should tell you something_." The powder keg had been lit. And the soft-spoken Morticia Addams was beyond giving off sparks. She had exploded. "She uses terms of endearment with you, and she put her hand…" She walked up to her husband and put her hand on his chest in explanation. "right on your chest." She took it off then, backing away in the heat of the moment. "And I know she only did that because I was in the room. She has you at her beck and call. Can that woman do _anything_ for herself? I do… feel for her, mon cher, but she isn't helpless. And then, after I hadn't seen you for hours, to have you- to, leave me in the middle of dinner; for what? I…" She sighed.

Gomez looked at her, mainly guilt, for all of this, everything he had brought upon her in his eyes but… a slight smirk on his lips that said, he knew something.

"I'm acting like a spoiled child; I know. I know. She is only here for a while and you two…" Morticia gulped, but it was barely audible. "Have a history. I just…" She had no idea.

"Cara mia…" Gomez couldn't help his smirk (what was playing out before him never happened, ever). "You're jealous."

Morticia scoffed. "Gomez, please, I- I…" She sighed, seeing no point in lying to him anymore. "I am. Very jealous."

Gomez could not believe his ears. He raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, I am admitting it." Morticia said. "I miss you. I don't want to do this; argue. I hate it. I love you." She added, "Even though sometimes, you're wrong and you make me argue with you. But I love every single thing about you."

Gomez laughed.

"Especially your laugh." Morticia smiled. "I miss what it was like before you had to get up in the middle of dinner. And I hate feeling like an attention-starved five-year-old. But I don't care at this point." She didn't realize how much she had been holding in. Her eyes welled up, and tears almost poured out of them. "I'm sorry." She said, and the tears began to fall.

Gomez felt terrible. He had to make this right, now. There smirk had vanished; the conversation was no longer about jealousy. It was about his wife and the fact that he had hurt her.

And the only thing he could do about it was try. Try to make it right, and show her how incredibly sorry he was.

He sat on the couch, extending his arms. "Tish, please… come here."

Morticia sighed, in loving relief. "Nothing could keep me away."

She practically ran to her amour, and sat in his lap… allowing him to wrap his arms around her from behind and hold her, tightly.

Gomez kissed her neck, embracing her and doing everything he could do comfort her and physically adore her. "I am so, terribly sorry that you have been feeling like this."

"It's alright." Morticia replied, strongly.

"No, my dearest. It isn't." Gomez knew it, and he needed to make sure she did, too. "You know I would never do anything to hurt you. Ever. And in trying to keep a promise, I've been neglecting you despite all of my best efforts not to. The fact that I did it at all, intentional or not, makes me ill. You are my world, cara mia. My life, my death, my oxygen… without you, I would die. You are everything to me." He told her, continuing to kiss her. "I am who I am because of you, and your love. And every day, that black, porcelain pedestal that is your seat in my heart- which you in truth consume, entirely, and also beats for you- and in my life -again a metaphor, for you consume it whole- gets higher, and larger." Gomez leaned back, arms still tight around her.

Morticia allowed herself to get comfortable in her husband's arms. Her legs rested on the couch now, and partially against him. And her tears ceased to fall.

She kissed him.

"Cara mia," Gomez took her hand. "I would die for you. I would kill for you." He grinned. "Either way, what bliss."

Morticia gave a genuine smile, and a small laugh.

"There it is." Gomez kissed her. "Tish, please…" He caressed her cheek. "I do not know how to make this up to you but I will never stop attempting to. All I ask is that you forgive me." He looked down, then back into her beautiful eyes. "I am a fool, but the one thing I do know with full certainty is that I love you with everything I am; and everything I have."

"Oh, Gomez…" Morticia snuggled as close to him as possible. "How could I not forgive you? Of course I do, yes." She responded. "You are my universe, my air… my everything. Mon amour, I can't sleep without you… without being in your arms, let alone do anything else. I love you, more with every passing second. Of course, I forgive you." She paused. "I just hope you can forgive me."

"For what?" Gomez asked. "You did nothing wrong. You told me how you felt. My darling, that shows me I am accomplishing my most important goal: to be the best I can be to and for you. Do not apologize for telling me how you feel. I want to know." He gently held her chin in his hand. "I told you just a moment ago I would die for you; I would. And I live for you, as well, mi encantadora. I live for your pleasure and to make you… blissfully unhappy, as we like to say."

"Je t'aime, mon cher." Morticia's lips met his.

Gomez pulled her closer. "Mmm… ti amo, cara mia."

"Just think…" Morticia said. "now you have a memory of my first, and _only_ , jealous rant."

"I do." Gomez realized. "But you have no reason to be jealous, mi corazón." He assured her. "You are my only, and my everything. I promise you."

Morticia kissed him, fatigue slowly taking over her. "As are you, mon beau diable." Her eyes then began to shut, and she let out an almost-silent yawn.

Gomez pulled the black, fuzzy blanket over them and hit the couch.

It then folded out, making itself into a bed.

The lovers, however, stayed in their current position.

"Tired, mi hermosa diosa?" Gomez asked, stroking her hair.

Morticia nuzzled her head into his neck, and he held her, tightly.

Her eyes closed. And Morticia fell to sleep.

"I'll take that as a _yes_." Gomez decided. "Goodnight, cara mia." He kissed her forehead, then falling into a slumber himself.

The lamps (either perfectly timed or possessed), then turned off.

"Morticia?" Esmeralda crept down the stairs. "I didn't hear any plates breaking, so I thought I oughtta-" She stopped speaking when she noticed her daughter, snuggled up on the couch with Gomez.

She smiled, deciding it best to leave the two to rest.

She began to make her way back to her bedroom, the long way. She exited the living room, walking into the room adjacent to it. But before she got too far, she remembered the pair on the couch; and turned off the kitchen light.

…..

Embers, specks of burning red, lifted up by the flames. The flames, dancing in their respectful corner (a fervent, erotic tango)… yearning to burst of their enclosure; and swallow up all in the room, burning everything that was once so full of history, to nothing more than a pile of ashen obliteration… soon to be washed away by atmospheric tears of mourning, and carried off by the screaming wind.

As of now, the hot, scorching flames that danced within the fireplace did no such thing. They continued to move within the limited space they had been given. Yet, they were unsatisfied with it. They would forever be unsatisfied with it.

A stream of blood -thick as the flesh it had once flowed under… crimson as the eyes that had stalked its body, hungrily… as though it had been the prey, and not the meat that had once been its form. It had been.- stained the ivory carpet, and left a trail from the locked double doors, to the elderly, gothic, Victorian couch.

The blood poured from the recently murdered carcass, that lied at the feet of its killer. Its body was deformed. No organs could be seen, though the animal was heavily cut open. Only thick, crimson, blood.

Red, stained the glass as it swished about. It never made noise; merely swished, to the same silent song of the flames.

She raised the glass to her lips for a third time, high on the ruby liquid. As she drank the blood of the animal, her eyes -the colour of the blood she had sucked to obtain it- enlarged.

She held the glass out, and looked down at the deceased, bloodied corpse of the rabbit that laid at her feet, before the fireplace.

A slow, half-devious, half-pleasured smile appeared on her face, and she took another sip of its blood.

She sighed, briefly looking down at the animal from where she sat -elegantly, legs crossed- on the couch. "You're sweet." Regina remarked. "But, there is something about you… you never quite could satisfy me the way she could."

Regina's eyes looked about the darkened second-floor living room, to again remind her that she and her victim were the only ones in it.

She brought her lips to the wine glass filled not with alcohol, but that's liquid contained therein would surely intoxicate her far more than any liquor-like substance ever would.

Purposefully, Regina dug the spikes on the end of her black high heels into her leg and dragged down.

Her stomach tightened and her eyes closed, momentarily, in pleasure as small streams of red trickled from her leg.

The crimson, elbow-length, silk robe she wore with her unchanged lingerie-dress was untied… and had been since the murder of animalistic innocence.

She held in her hand, a picture, faded -old, one hundred… at least, years old- of a woman; gorgeous, mesmerizing, ruby-coloured irises, pale white skin, hair as golden blonde as the sun, itself… her nails were painted black, and she wore a red, off-shoulder, gypsy-type crop-top. She was smiling. Her smile, it was so… full of life.

" _Lydia…"_ Regina took another sip of blood, eyeing the picture, then looking back down at the rabbit. "Never, could your blood be…" Setting the glass down, she ran her fingers over the edge of the picture, lost in past imagery. "Quite as appeasing as hers was." She practically whispered.

Regina finished the glass; and sucking out every last drop of the rabbit's life that there was contained in the glass, a bit of it found itself on her bottom lip. And when she lifted the faded picture… a single drop of blood fell onto the eye of the woman in it.

Regina blinked once, and set the empty glass on the couch.

She stood up, picture in hand and began to walk, slowly to the fireplace, kicking the corpse of the rabbit, callously to the side as she did.

She approached the fireplace, and bent down on her knees; emptiness in her heart, on her face… but not in her eyes.

 _It was not the old man who vexed me. But his Evil Eye…_

Lifeless liquid, smearing down the face of the picturesque woman… Regina threw the photograph into the fire.

She stayed in that position, for as long as it took for that smile to deform into ruin.

Bleeding flames danced in the blood of her eyes, enveloping the picture to carry out what their blaze was intended to do. Unsatisfied, they still were. But they now had been given a taste of masochistic devastation. They had seen ashen obliteration once before.

And someday, the flames promised themselves… they would see it again.

Red stained the blaze as it swished about… the picture, becoming nothing more than smoke in the silent air.


	6. Was it Hot When You Crawled Up from Hell

Chapter 5: Was it Hot When You Crawled Up from Hell?

 _I am alone. There is no one now._

 _Hurt… darkness, the unspeakable kind. The kind that makes me willing to crawl, naked through broken shards of glass, to the feet of any power greater than I, and beg… beg that power to release me from it. Please. Please. I can take a number of things: I can take the coldness from my sister, I can take being labeled as the town witch when no one in Rosewood knows a damn thing about me, I can take the relentless harassment from my peers at school; but I cannot take this. I cannot lose my father._

 _I can't… I'm so alone. I will have no one. I-_

 _Shaking. Convulsing. Eyes, once so much like my own… nothing more than white bulbs rolling back in his head. Screaming, screaming out for my father but he can't hear a thing I say. If he can, he cannot register it._

 _The plate of food shatters on the floor as it falls out of my hand and-_

God! _No! No. There is nothing. There is no one._

 _The sheer, unrelenting agony is tearing me apart and all I can feel is darkness. All I can see is a hospital room and I've seen it all before. I've seen it and I can't go back to this. I can't go back to the silence of my sister or my mother's depression or my father's life slipping away before my eyes or that goddamned clock on the wall, counting down every remaining second he has!_

 _Tick, tick, tick, tick,_ tick, tick-

 _Stop! Stop! Goddamit,_ please, _stop!_

 _What about this moment not coming for a long, long time? What about my wedding one day? What about watching me become a mother? What about being the only person I have in this world that I can trust that won't hurt me? What about life? What about-_

 _Tick, tick, tick, tick,_ tick, tick-

" _Father, please…"_

 _This is not a dream. This cannot possibly be a dream. This is real. This is all real. I am living out my father's death. I feel it… I feel my heart, shattering and my head, splitting and my life (past, present and future) falling apart before my tear-stained eyes._

 _Tick, tick, tick, tick,_ tick, tick-

"God, why?" _My mother's choking screams ring in my ears as the sheet is draped over my father and when- when can this end?_

 _Please, please, make it stop. Make it stop._

 _But it doesn't stop. It can't stop. It will never stop because I am back at the beginning, in a hell I can't crawl up from._

 _I'm alone, I'm alone forever. Who in the hell do I have left now? Who?_

 _Tick, tick, tick, tick,_ tick, tick-

 _The clock is gone. That goddamned clock. Is gone._

 _Darkness. I just want to scream, cry, end the suffering but it's never going to end. It's only going to intensify._

 _I'm alone. There is no one anymore, at all, ever. I'm alone. I'm alone. I'm alone. I'm alone._

" _I'm alone!"_ Morticia awoke in a panic, tears forming in her eyes but not yet falling.

She sat up, instantly upon awakening. Her head shook, slowly; a panic attack underway (if it was not already there).

Gomez -sensing the sudden change in his wife- opened his eyes, and looked up at her. Noticing something was terribly wrong (and having an inkling that she had had one of her nightmares), he sat up and wrapped her up in an embrace.

Morticia's eyes were wide with fear; and while she allowed this action to happen, she could not register his presence.

"He's gone. He's gone." Her nails dug into his arm. "I'm alone."

Gomez looked into her eyes. "Tish? My dearest, look at me. You are not alone. I promise you. Look at me. I am right here. I am not going anywhere. Please, querida."

Morticia registered him, then; and she completely broke down. "Gomez!" She clung to him, tightly; as if worried she might lose him, too.

Gomez sighed, in relief that he was able to bring her to her senses. He held her as close as possible and stroked her hair, consoling her.

"Shh, my black angel. It's alright." Gomez planted a kiss on her temple. "I am right here. Nothing is going to happen."

"Gomez…" Morticia's slender shoulders shook, as she cried.

Gomez pulled up the blanket, never once letting go of her. "It's alright." He said, lips, soft against her forehead. "It's alright."

"He… he was… Gomez, he died holding my hand." Morticia choked out. "That clock, _that damned clock_. It wouldn't stop ticking! Every second. Every second was just his life, slipping away." She breathed out, "I was alone. I was just… so alone"

Gomez rubbed her back, soothingly. "I know, my darling. I know." He pressed his forehead against hers, and looked into her eyes. "You will never be alone; never again." He assured her.

Morticia's breathing began to stabilize, and her tears had subsided. She then held out a shaking hand for her husband to take.

He did; and she squeezed it tightly.

"We're back in our bedroom." She remarked, breathlessly, eyes closed.

All she knew right now, coming out of her traumatic state was that last night, they had fallen asleep in the living room. And now, they were in their bed.

"Yes, we are." Gomez affirmed, happy she was no longer breaking her sentences in trauma. "I awakened last night around midnight and carried you back to bed. And then, I fell back asleep." He informed her.

Morticia nodded. "Oh."

"Would you like to talk about it?" Gomez asked, casting a sideways glance at their own clock on the wall.

It was 3:00 am.

Morticia nodded.

Gomez situated it so he was propped up by the pillows; and Morticia lied, held tightly in his arms and head, rested on his chest.

And she told him.

She told him -as evenly and as strongly as she possibly could- everything about the agony she had suffered in the dream; and about how she had been trapped in a hell of which there was no escape. She told him of the clock on the wall, in great detail… and her mother, and her sister. And the true fact that she had been alone. And it was all, so, very… real.

To which, he had assured her (both physically and verbally) that she was not alone anymore. She would never be alone, ever again. And he was there, and would be there forever, always. He was never going anywhere.

Now, the lovers lied in bed together. Gomez, still holding his querida, protectively in his arms and her head, still comfortably rested on his chest.

Gomez kissed her. "You amaze me, Tish." He said.

"How?" Morticia asked.

"You're strength." Gomez replied. "When I tell you that you are an enchantment, never forget I am not just referring to your incredible beauty."

Morticia's eyes began to close. But she heard every word he had said.

"Merci, mon amour." Morticia smiled. "Je t'aime." She planted a kiss on his chest, then, exhausted.

And she fell into a slumber, free of loneliness, safe and strong in his arms.

….

Sleep. Slumber. Subconsciousness for a period of time. In the arms of Morpheus.

Sleep.

Wednesday Addams' period of sleep was most unusual (It was believed to have something to do with genes, her Aunt Calpurnia and something or other skipping a generation or two.). She slept for exactly seven-and-a-half hours, uninterrupted, every night. No matter what time she had gone to bed, she slept seven-and-a-half hours.

Her sleeping position was always, relatively unchanging. She slept how most would imagine the bats in her home that she so despised, to sleep.

Arms, folded over her chest, much like a corpse. As stiff as a board and eyes closed with no expression at all to mark her face.

No matter what time she had gone to bed, she slept seven-and-a-half hours. Uninterrupted, every night.

 _Sleep…_

 _This must have been be a dream._

 _Why else would she have laid eyes upon the scene of… a baby girl, more pale than Wednesday, herself, even. She was somewhat petite, and swaddled in a black, soft blanket. Her head, full of thick, midnight-coloured hair poked out of it._

 _The baby girl was being rocked to sleep by a man (though he was certainly no man Wednesday had ever seen)._

 _The man appeared to be her father. He was tall, seemingly five-foot-eleven, and muscular. His skin was fair; and he had a mess of jet black hair and a mustache._

 _He was clothed in black pajama bottoms and a black, silk robe with black slippers._

 _The dark room looked as though Wednesday's mother's tastes exploded in it._

 _Most of it was black and gothic. A cradle, of ebony wood was placed near the closed window; which was half-covered by grey and black, gothic drapes. A mobile of black spiders dangled from the top of the cradle. Against the wall, was a black bookshelf... filled to the brim with macabre poetry (mainly Edgar Allen Poe), horrour novels and spell books._

 _The father rocked the baby to sleep in front of a dresser, of the same type of ebony wood._

 _The sky was black, although this time, it was not in mourning. Rather, it was celebrating the birth of its mother of darkness. Due to the change in whether, it now appeared as though it were blushing. White, puffy clouds blended in with each other and spilled inches of snow at a time, out of themselves._

 _The song the man-_ thefather _, sang to her… it was a lullaby._

 _Almost everything, in an instant came to the sleeping Wednesday: it was created by her father, the night she was born. She was born during a snowstorm; and the lullaby… she knew it, even without knowing the history behind it._

 _The Moon. It was called, The Moon._

" _Oh, whistling, why are you feeling so shy?_

 _Wind comes 'round at dusk and blows 'till night is nigh._

 _The wolves are hiding,_

 _As drops of snow fall,_

 _But I am so old,_

 _I have lived through it all._

 _Child, don't cry,_

 _I'll be there soon,_

 _I'll never leave you for I am the moon."_

 _The singing continued as the father of the baby girl looked in the mirror of her dresser; and smiled._

 _Melodic singing soon turned to humming, and the baby fell to sleep._

 _Upon noticing this, the baby's father -as soundlessly as he could- walked over to the cradle, planted a tender kiss on her head, and gently set the baby girl in it. He did this as though she were a piece of glass, and any movement too strong just may break her. At the same time, she was the most precious piece of glass he had ever held._

 _After he had placed the baby in the cradle, he -smiling- walked to her door, and turned on his heels before exiting. Looking back at the cradle, -more importantly, the baby girl in it- he spoke. "Goodnight, Morticia."_

 _Morticia? Wednesday's_ mother _, Morticia?_

 _Of course. There was only one Morticia._

 _Looking at the child, now, it was impossible to miss but- where the hell was she? This was a dream. This was a dream._

 _This was a dream-_

 _Charles… the father, Wednesday's grandfather. His name was Charles._

 _He now sat on the side of a queen-sized bed, in an enormous, gothic bedroom._

 _The bedsheets were black with Victorian gothic, swirled designs covering it (the same colour of a different shade)._

 _The room itself, had dark plum walls and a black, wooden floor. The window took up most of the far left wall and due to the downpour in the black night, it was left uncovered._

 _The black bookshelf remained… still filled with the same books. Now, there were a couple of taxidermy kits in it. As well as skulls, a Ouija board and more spell books._

 _The rest of the room oozed gothic elegance. There was even a vanity; perfect and dark with a black, stylish little stool before it._

 _A few candles were lit in the darkness of the room._

 _A little girl, five years of age, lied in the bed, propped up by her pillows. She looked like a female version of Charles and… Wednesday's mother. It… it was._

 _She was clad in an all-black nightgown, and her hair was brushed out (as usual). Even still… she greatly resembled her future daughter._

 _Charles -while sitting at the bedside- sat as close to his daughter as possible; and continued reading her her bedtime story, The Tell-Tale Heart. "For it was not the old man who vexed me, but his Evil Eye." Charles read._

 _Morticia smiled, never tiring of the story or the way her father told it._

" _And every morning, when the day broke," Charles took a short breath. "I went boldly into the chamber, and spoke courageously to him, calling him by name in a hearty tone, and inquiring how he has passed the night." He paused, then continued reading. "So you see he would have been a very profound old man, indeed, to suspect that every night, just at twelve, I looked in upon him while he slept."_

 _The two continued their story, the young Morticia never growing sleepy in the slightest._

 _Charles was quite the storyteller. Before he had known it, they had reached the ending._

 _He cleared his throat._

" _They heard! -they suspected! -they knew! -they were making a mockery of my horror! This I thought, and this I think. But anything was better than this agony! Anything was more tolerable than this derision! I could bear those hypocritical smiles no longer! I felt that I must scream or die! And now -again! Hark! louder! louder! louder! louder!"_

 _Morticia jumped, excitedly._

"Villains! _I shrieked" Charles continued. "Dissemble no more! I admit the deed! Tear up the planks! Here, here! It is the beating of his hideous heart!"_

 _Morticia clapped, and her eyes shone with admiration._

" _Thank you, my lady." Charles half-bowed._

" _You're very welcome." Morticia smiled. "Alright, what's next?"_

" _Nothing." Charles squeezed her leg. "You have to go to bed."_

 _Morticia's face fell and her eyes enlarged. "Please, father."_

 _Charles groaned. "Not the eyes…" He could not look away from nor refuse his little girl._

 _Especially when she looked at him with those big, sad eyes._

"Please." _Morticia begged. "What about a poem?" She suggested. "What about The Raven? We always read The Raven."_

 _Charles shook his head. "Well-"_

"Please?" _Morticia pleaded, folding her hands in front of her._

 _Charles would have given her anything she wanted. "Oh,-"_

 _The door opened._

" _No, Morticia. No more stories tonight. You have had your father in here since seven-thirty and its colder than Alaska in here." A woman said, coming into the light._

 _Her voice… it was so familiar to the slumbering Wednesday._

 _It couldn't be. No, it wasn't… her grandmother. She looked so… different._

 _She looked to be a couple of years younger than Charles. Her frame was slightly curvy, and five-foot-three. Her skin was fair white and she had sparkling blue eyes. Her dark chocolate brown hair was down to her butt, and big. It was extremely curly._

 _She wore a flowy, purple, gothic shirt with sleeves that… flowed, and black, long, gothic/gypsy-like skirts. She had on black, fingerless (except for thumb-holes) fishnet gloves and black, heeled boots._

 _Her nails were of average-length and painted black. She wore minimal makeup._

 _Arms crossed, she turned to Charles. "And_ you _, need to get to bed."_

 _Charles groaned, jokingly._ "But, mother- "

 _It was Wednesday's grandmother. It was Esmeralda._

 _Esmeralda raised her eyebrow._ "You want me to give you a spanking?"

 _Charles took not a moment to come up with his response. He looked up at her. "Would it be terribly immature of me to say_ yes

 _Esmeralda's eyes enlarged._ "Charles Frump!" _She shook her head. "Yes, I will-_ I mean _, it would." She snapped her teeth. "Do you see what you make me do?"_

 _Morticia laughed, then faced her mother. "Did Ophelia enjoy her story, mother?" She inquired._

" _Yes, dear. She did." Esmeralda told her, after having mouthed_ You're bad _, to Charles._

" _I wouldn't mind if she came in and read with me once in a while." Morticia said. "As long as she doesn't make us read that terrible story about the knight who slayed that poor, defenseless dragon."_

 _Charles smiled, a protective hand on her leg. "She won't, Morticia. I promise. Now, get some sleep."_

" _I can't have_ one morestory _?" Morticia looked her father in his eyes, batting her own._

" _Well…" Charles turned back to his wife. "Just one more story?"_

 _Esmeralda shook her head. "I said_ no _." She sighed then, eyeing her the sulking pair. "Oh alright." She finally caved; and their eyes lit up at her words. "But neither one of you are going to tell your sister that mother went to bed early." She flashed the_ I'm watching you _sign. "Got it?"_

 _Charles saluted her, happily. "Roger that, Captain Frump!"_

 _Esmeralda nodded, bent down and kissed her husband. "Alright. Hopefully, I will see you before I'm too exhausted to stay awake any longer."_

 _Charles sighed. "Damn. One more story and I get downgraded from being the man who_ makes you exhausted _to sleeping in our daughter's bedroom." He shook his head, opening the book. "That's alright. My right arm will keep me company." He gave a nod to his daughter. "Won't you, Morticia?"_

 _Morticia a nod of her own, in affirmation. "Oui." She winked… having been studying French since, three years of age._

 _Esmeralda rolled her eyes, then exiting her daughter's bedroom. "I'll feel betrayed until my head hits the pillow!" She called to them, teasing._

 _Book open, Charles kissed his daughter's hand and began to read. "Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore…"_

 _This was a dream. This was a dream. Where. Was. She-_

 _Morticia's life, with its ups and downs but always with her father flashed by until it… flashed away._

 _Shaking. Convulsing. Eyes, once so much like her own… nothing more than white bulbs rolling back in his head. Screaming, screaming out for her father but he can't hear a thing she says. If he can, he cannot register it._

 _The plate of food that had once fed her hungry vultures -that he had given her- now shatters on the floor as it falls out of her hand and-_

God! _No! No. There is nothing. There is no one._

 _All that can be felt is darkness. All that can be seen is a hospital room. But she can't… go back to this. The silence of her sister or her mother's depression or her father's life slipping away before her eyes or that goddamned clock on the wall, counting down every remaining second he has!_

 _Tick, tick, tick, tick,_ tick, tick-

 _Stop! Stop! Goddamit,_ please, _stop!_

 _What about this moment not coming for a long, long time? What about those dreams that a father and a daughter… what about her dreams? What about-_

 _Tick, tick, tick, tick,_ tick, tick-

" _Father, please…"_

 _This is a dream. This is a dream. This is a dream-_

 _Tick, tick, tick, tick,_ tick, tick-

"God, why?" _Her_ _mother's choking screams ring in her ears as the sheet is draped over her father and when- when can this end?_

 _Please, please, make it stop. Make it stop._

 _It did._

 _It faded out as quick as it had come. The last remnants of the agony, loss… that the sleeping Wednesday suffered, fully was the scene itself: Charles, bidding a heart-wrenching farewell to his daughter, on his deathbed. And as he held her… he clutched her hand, and the ring (completely black, adorned with black diamonds) he had given her for her last birthday._

 _\- The street was dark. Only a light snow fell -which was more of a drizzle-like rain than snow- covering the slick-with-ice sidewalks and even more dangerous roads._

 _The seventeen-year-old young girl, walking down Old Chippewa Ave. was -without question- Wednesday's mother. She looked almost the same as she did now; only -of course- younger. But she was enchanting… and only one person -to Wednesday- so accurately fit that description._

 _Life… without her father, didn't flash quite as quickly._

 _After the funeral (which was hell in itself), Morticia took a job with her 'best' (and one of only two friends) friend, Hailie, as a cocktail waitress. She merely lied about her age. And, she never talked to anyone about her feelings… how the death of her true best friend and only person she could really trust haunted her, damaged her… no, she never did speak of it to anyone but Kitty (the young lion she took custody of after Charles' death)_

 _Easing the strain on her mother whenever she could (although her sister was never much help; never wanting to work for the family, never offering…) and working late into the night, her job was often stressful. She was catcalled, groped… but she handled it. She did._

 _She walked, in the direction of home, alone after having worked late at the bar._

 _Shivering in the cold, she muttered, "Damn it, Hailie. Why did you have to, today of all days, to work later than I did?" Morticia sighed and continued to walk, eyes on the ground. "I'll see you at home." She said, as if her friend were next to her._

 _The smell of gas assaulted Morticia's senses, and the engine of a car lowly growled in her ears. It was close by._ They, _were close by._

 _Morticia -hair clipped up in the back, minus a thick strand hanging down, and clad in her black winter's coat (one of the last nice things she owned), half-buttoned-up, black waitressing shirt and tight, short black skirt, black tights and black heeled boots- began to walk faster._

 _The engine noise faded._

 _She avoided them. She had hoped._

" _Cold night." A hoarse voice of a man remarked, close to her ear._

 _Morticia, smelling the booze on his breath, began to speed-walk, eyes on the ground._

 _There were more of them._

" _Hey, Charlie… we got a pretty one." A large man, with black eyes and dark hair, was the first to catch up to Morticia._

"' _Course, we always do!" Charlie, the man who had initially tried to engage with Morticia, laughed._

 _He was large (as were all of his… friends), and had jet black hair with blue eyes._

 _Morticia walked as fast as she possibly could. And when that failed, she began to run._

" _We got a runner!" One of the men, seemingly more drunk than the rest of them (blonde, tan and built like an ox), called._

 _The men proceeded to pursue her, and blocked the path she had been walking._

" _Hey, goth bitch. How 'bout a ride?" Another man, bald with light brown eyes and not much taller than Morticia, herself, asked._

" _I'm not interested." Morticia -shoulders broad- attempted to move around the five men._

 _The man with green eyes laughed, lighting a cigarette to smoke. "That's alright." He said, stepping closer to her. "You don't have to be."_

 _Morticia stood._ "I do. Now all of you, get the hell out of my way." _She ordered._

" _Just who do you think your talking to?" Charlie questioned._

" _A group of pigs who spent a bit too long in the mud." Morticia retorted, and turned around._

" _Oh, now I know you didn't talk to me like that." Charlie growled. "Not after how gracious we've been to your ass tonight."_

 _Morticia tried to run, but two of them blocked her way. She quickly turned back around but three of them formed a circle around her._

" _Gracious?" She raised an eyebrow, frightened but unwilling to show any of it. "You haven't been gracious. You all have been, nothing but misogynistic brutes-"_

"You bitch." _Charlie shook his head._

 _He threw his cigarette down and put it out underfoot. Then, he pushed her against the cold, hard brick of the building she had -just moments ago- been walking against._

 _The others joined in, holding her against it._

 _Charlie (the closest to her) took the clip out of her hair and threw it to the ground. "You 'ont be needin' this." He grinned._

 _Morticia struggled against their hold but it was to no avail._

 _She said nothing as the men began to say vulgar things to her ("I wonder why you hide those long legs of yours." "Who knows? Maybe she's a cutter." "Ah, one a' the freaks. Gotta love a bad girl.")_

" _Now," Charlie said as he began to unbutton her black waitressing shirt the rest of the way. "The guys an' I are lookin' for a bit a' fun tonight. An' we're about ta have it with you."_

 _Morticia swallowed, hard._

" _Yea, you look like a whore." The blonde man's eyes sparkled._

 _And the sleeping Wednesday could have guessed… Morticia resented that fact._

 _Her breathing became laboured, and she continued to fight. She stepped on Charlie's foot._

 _The man with green eyes only held her down tighter._

 _Charlie grinned. "I like 'em feisty."_

 _Morticia spit directly in his face._

 _Charlie, infuriated, wiped the spit from his face. "You think you're somethin', huh?" His face was in such close proximity to hers. And he began to unbuckle his belt. "Well, I'll show you somethin'-"_

"You won't show her a damn thing!"

 _Morticia looked out… and in the darkness of the night, she saw, clearly… someone she was extremely thankful to see._

 _Hailie… her name was Hailie. She looked to be the same age as Morticia, was five-foot-four and skinny with pale white skin (although it could be considered almost tan compared to Morticia). Her eyes were a light-hazel-brown, and her wavy hair, down to her upper back, was of a vibrant red shade. It was so red, that people gasped when they found that it wasn't fake. It was clipped up, similar to the best friend she was saving._

 _Her nails were of average-length and painted shimmering gold. Her makeup was subtle, but clearly steampunk-inspired._

 _She wore the same shirt as Morticia. Her jacket was old and worn, and she wore black skinny jeans with brown, steampunk boots._

 _The men stopped and stared at Hailie._

"I have a gun and I'm not afraid to pull the trigger on you assholes!" _She shouted, reaching into her purse and pulling out the object that made the men freeze. She aimed it at them, and most specifically, Charlie. "Get the hell off of her or I will blow your fucking brains out;_ literally! _" She yelled._ "Now move!"

 _The men released Morticia instantly and ran to their car, driving off and screaming obscenities at the girls out of their open window as they did._

 _Morticia landed on her knees. But, ever the elegant young lady, she hopped up and brushed herself off, pushing her hair over her right shoulder._

 _She turned to Hailie and nodded, once. "Thank you." She said, evenly as they began their walk home._

 _Hailie, by now had put the object back in her purse. "I got your back." She replied._

 _Morticia linked arms with Hailie as they continued to walk. "Is there really a gun in there?" She asked._

 _Hailie scoffed. "It was a fucking banana."_

 _Morticia shook her head. "Idiots."_

 _Hailie met Morticia's eyes, then. "Happy Birthday." She said, genuinely. She then took out a cigarette to smoke, handing the lighter to Morticia._

 _Morticia smiled. "Thank you, dear." She replied and lit Hailie's cigarette for her. She laughed, almost silently before she spoke her next sentence. "May it not be my last."_

 _This… was a dream. It was… the subconscious Wednesday could not finish the conscious idea. She didn't care where she was. She wanted to leave. This wasn't real. It couldn't have been… it was. It was and-_

 _-That year, however, did pass… as the year before it had._

 _But her situation was not destined to be such forever. She met her amour, Gomez… her everything and her life was changed._

 _She didn't believe in saving grace… until she met her diable; nor had he, until he met his black angel._

 _Morticia was Mrs. Addams. And she went everywhere with her husband. Honeymoons to the Black Hole of Calcutta or trips to Transylvania, or glorious cruises… or magnificently, staying at home with him and being adored and feeling… loved, unafraid, worshipped and bonded with someone whom she would never lose. She had a soulmate; Gomez Addams… and… it was more than anything she could have ever dreamed possible for herself._

 _Morticia… looking -somehow- even more beautiful than she was when she was younger, was aged somewhere around… twenty-seven. She was twenty-seven._

April showers bring May flowers. _Morticia always hated that phrase._

 _However, it was only mid-April. The May flowers had a long time before Morticia would need to begin to clip their invasive petals again._

 _There was a feeling of romantic excitement and nervousness, in the… the dream._

 _It was a dream. Wasn't it?_

 _Morticia sat in the old, dark wooden rocking chair (the only piece of furniture in the otherwise vacant room). She watched the rain, slide, mesmerizingly down the clear, medium-sized window… seemingly lost in thought. A delicate hand rested on her stomach._

 _It appeared she was contemplating something… something great._

 _The door opened._

 _Her head turned; her eyes leaving the tranquility of the rain… and looking up, into the eyes of her husband._

 _Gomez smiled, and let out a relieved sigh. "Mi hermosa diosa, I've been looking everywhere for you."_

 _The dark orbs of mystery that were Morticia's eyes, glowed with an aura of romantic passion, at the sight of him._

" _I'm sorry, mon amour. I've been sitting up here since my doctor's appointment." Morticia explained. "I missed you."_

 _Gomez knelt down before her, taking her hands and kissing them, passionately. "I missed you too, querida." He said. "I would have gone with you. I tried, desperately to reschedule that meeting with that damned lawyer of ours."_

 _There. Gomez always spoke very highly of Tully. This was confirmation. This had to be a dream-_

 _Morticia nodded. "I know, mon beau diable. Don't torture yourself." She smirked. "That's my job."_

" _Oh, Tish…" Gomez groaned, slowly rising from his kneeling position and kissing her._

" _Perhaps we should consider getting a new lawyer?" Morticia suggested. "After all, we've had Mr. Winchester for three years and with-" She stopped herself, as if she was about to reveal something she shouldn't. "Do you remember Margaret Alford, the woman who helps run the charity auctions downtown?"_

 _Gomez nodded._

" _Her husband, Tully? He's a lawyer. She says he's a good one. She gave me his business card." Morticia told him. "Why don't we give him a call?"_

 _This was not reality. But… this was… how could this be a dream? Where_ was _she_? _Gomez seemed thrilled at the idea. "Perfect. I'll call him first thing tomorrow." His lips met her hand, fervently. "Tish, my dearest… I would be lost without you." He paused, then asked, "Now, how did your doctors appointment go?"_

 _Morticia took a deep breath. "Gomez… there is something I have to tell you."_

 _Gomez raised an eyebrow. "Is everything alright?"_

 _Morticia hastily replied, "Yes, mon cher. Everything is alright. I think so."_

 _Concern enlarged her husband's eyes._ "You think so?"

" _Yes." Morticia responded._

"Tish, are you alright?" _Gomez questioned, then, seemingly unable to stand his alarm eating away at him._

" _Yes, I'm fine." Morticia assured him. "And the baby seems to be doing well."_

" _Because, I've been thinking about this all morning." Gomez confessed, his brain going one-thousand miles per minute. "Cara mia, I must admit, I have been a nervous wreck. I've noticed that you haven't been eating properly."_

 _Morticia raised her eyebrow, bemused, as her husband continued getting his thoughts out… having not registered her words right away._

" _You seem to be overtired lately. And my darling, you-_ what _?" Gomez froze; her words having finally caught up to him._

" _Gomez," Morticia looked into his eyes, seriously. "I'm pregnant."_

 _Gomez inhaled and exhaled, deeply. "You're… you're…" He shook his head, in disbelief. Then, he looked at her, elated. "We're going to have a baby?"_

 _Morticia nodded, smiling, seeing the joy spread across his features. "We're going to have a baby."_

 _Gomez took her hands, aiding her to stand and embraced her, pulling her into their most passionate kiss all day. "Tish… that's… that's wonderful!" He kissed her again, not letting go of her. "Cara mia, mi corazón, my black angel… we're going to be parents." Gomez was still in shock, but the kind that he would gladly stay in for as long as it lasted._

 _Morticia sighed, happily as her husband continued to shower her in undying affection; then turning her around, and holding her from behind… watching the storm that now began to brew, out of the window with her._

 _Morticia leaned into him, and looked around the vacant room. "I thought…" She began. "this could be the baby's room."_

 _Gomez observed the room with his eyes, then kissed her neck. "Of course, mi encantadora. Whatever you want. Anything at all." He added, then, not through with her neck: "I like it, too. It's perfect." He grinned. "You, are perfect."_

 _Gomez took her hand and spun her back around, lifting her up in his arms, and carrying her to the door; one foot out of it, soon to exit the room._

" _You need rest, my dearest." Gomez said._

 _Morticia played with his tie, seductively. "Mmm… I need to be exhausted first."_

 _Gomez nodded. "That you do." His lips met hers, once again. "And that you will be… with pleasure, mi reina."_

 _This… was… no. No, no, no, no. Stop! This couldn't possibly be real-_

 _A baby girl._

 _She was crying, pale, petite, and swaddled in a black, soft blanket. Her head, full of thick, raven hair poked out of it._

 _The baby girl was being rocked to sleep (An attempt was being made, at least.) by a woman… twenty-eight… she was twenty-eight._

 _Morticia. That woman was obviously Morticia._

 _She wore her makeup, still and was clothed in a formfitting black nightgown that swept the floor, with elbow-length sleeves, that was lowcut in a deep V-neck. Her hair was pushed over her right shoulder. She wore her wedding ring, and the ring… the completely black one, adorned with black diamonds, that her father had given her._

 _And that baby girl-_

" _Shh, Wednesday." Morticia said, gently, kissing her daughter's forehead. "You never cry for me. You hardly cry at all." She said, in a small voice. "What's going on, darling; hmm?"_

 _It was (if there had been any doubt) Wednesday._

 _The dark room looked perfect for a baby Addams girl._

 _It was dark and desolate; a dream._

 _The walls were a dark version of light brown… with that history the Addams' so adored, but painted on a couple of them were gloomy images of rainclouds with dark-coloured rain pouring out of them and falling over a flock of three black sheep or sharks, eating smaller versions of each other. And the floor was of dark-coloured wood._

 _A cradle, of ebony wood was placed near the closed window; which was half-covered by black, gothic drapes. A mobile of small, sharp knives dangled from the top of the cradle. Against the wall, was a black bookshelf... filled to the brim with macabre poetry (mainly Edgar Allen Poe ) and horrour novels._

 _Morticia rocked her daughter in front of a dresser, of the same type of ebony wood._

 _The sky was grey, celebrating the birth of its sister of darkness. Tears of joy poured from their ecstatic, puffy, ash-coloured forms. They would cry, happily, for her and their dark mother all day today. It was not up for debate. It was a promise._

" _I know." Morticia said, more to herself, it appeared. Then, briefly casting a glance at the ring from her father, and then looking back at her beautiful baby girl… she began to sing._

" _Oh, whistling, why are you feeling so shy?_

 _Wind comes 'round at dusk and blows 'till night is nigh._

 _The wolves are hiding,_

 _As drops of snow fall,_

 _But I am so old,_

 _I have lived through it all._

 _Child, don't cry,_

 _I'll be there soon,_

 _I'll never leave you for I am the moon."_

 _The singing continued as Morticia looked in the mirror of her dresser, her baby daughter doing the same… locking in a stare with (the sleeping) Wednesday; and their eyes… were exactly the same._

 _They had been all along._

Awake.

Wednesday was awake.

Her mother's eyes jolted open.

….

Pugsley had been a live wire since 3:00 am.

That day in the gazebo had changed his life, in ways he had never expected… never imagined, possible. That day had shown him that love was real and it was fluttering in his heart on two, black bat wings; belonging to the loveliest of them all… Scarlett Blood.

He had been awake since 3:00 am, writing a poem for her… and he had big plans for both the poem and the girl his heart now belonged to.

Pugsley checked the time again. Whenever he was unsure of what to write next, he checked the time.

It was 7:00 am.

He sighed. What next?

Five hours and what did he have to show for it?

Just. Three. Stanzas.

Of which; he would likely have to rewrite, no less.

Pugsley rubbed his bloodshot eyes and dipped his black feather pen in ink.

That was the kind one used to write love letters; that was what his father used. Thus, that was what he would use.

"Agh!" Pugsley slammed his head against his dresser, frustrated; nearly -inadvertently- blowing out his candle.

He shook his head, eyes reading the heartfelt words he was writing… but having trouble fitting together.

"Bats Fluttered in my stomach,

The very first time,

I looked into your dark, red eyes…"

His voice trailed off, but his eyes still thoroughly focused on the piece of parchment before him.

"…panicked cries…" He had finished reading all he had written but he couldn't seem to- _ah hah!_ Pugsley thought as an idea suddenly struck him.

He highly doubted his father took this long.

No, these things came naturally to his father.

But the important thing was that Pugsley was getting somewhere. Yes; he was getting somewhere… he was… _Bloody Love…_ he was finished!

The young, besotted boy had so much to do! First, and foremost, he had to invite Scarlett to the gazebo again. He had to pick out a good-looking suit and- where was that tie? Oh, and of course he had to-

Exhausted as he was, Pugsley's head slammed down on his dresser with a thud (before he could do a single thing more than what he had already). And he fell, fast asleep.

….

"Yes. But, did you hear Regina call for her?" Wednesday asked her brother as he finished dressing before in his bedroom mirror.

Wednesday was desperately trying to keep her mind off of the… dreams. Due to them, she had awakened at 3:00 am.

She had been unable to fall back asleep (nor had she been sure she wished to).

Neither had she been able to force the image of her mother, cradling an infant version of Wednesday, herself, in her arms… and the two, having turned in the mirror in perfect unison. Their eyes, then locking with her, although she was asleep. Their eyes, shown through the mirror (as clear as the skies' translucent tears -tinted blue- that fell against her bedroom window)… were exactly the same.

No; she had not been able to expel that image from her conflicted conscious; nor steer clear of it entirely in her -typically inactive- subconscious.

But still, she tried.

Oh, how, she tried.

And so, she had ventured into her brother's room.

She was due for a talk with him, regardless.

Pugsley shook his head. "No." He admitted. Then quickly added, "But that doesn't mean that she didn't call her."

Wednesday raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms, sitting up straighter on his bed. "Oh?"

Pugsley smiled, buttoning up his suitcoat. "You look like mother, _especially_ when you do that." He told her.

Wednesday uncrossed her arms and attempted to slouch but it was of no use.

"Father was right." Pugsley sighed and shook his head. "You are turning into mother."

Wednesday gulped (inaudibly, to her brother). "Father said that?"

Pugsley nodded. "Mm-hmm. I accidentally walked into the office without knocking and they had been talking about it." He paused. "There were also papers all over the floor and they were making out on top of the desk, but-"

"I don't want to hear the story, thank you." Wednesday held up a hand.

Pugsley shrugged. "All I was going to say was that our lawyer speed-walked out of our house, shaking his head and looking like he was going to put his entire life up for sale, change his name and move to Switzerland; just so he would never have to see whatever he saw again."

Wednesday looked at her brother, and asked him: "Why did he walk out looking like he had seen more than our parents necking on a desk?"

"I think he did." Pugsley confessed. "He walked in about ten minutes after I did."

Wednesday cocked her head, then, in understanding as to why their lawyer would leave so suddenly (their home and his life).

Pugsley shook his head. "Poor _Mr. Winchester_."

Wednesday's eyes enlarged. _"What?"_

"I said, Poor Tully." Pugsley eyed his elder sister, strangely. "Wednesday, are you okay?"

Wednesday's head slowly shook; and then she remembered she was conversing with her younger brother.

"Yes." She replied; as non-hesitantly as she could. "I'm fine."

Pugsley wore a questioning expression but made no comment. Instead, he re-opened their previous discussion. "Ms. Blood _did_ call Scarlett." He sided.

" _Ms. Blood?"_ Wednesday unintentionally reverted back to her former position (with her arms crossed and her eyebrow, raised).

"Well, that's her name." Pugsley defended.

"Have you forgotten how hard she -and overall, her very presence- has been on this entire family? Not to mention, our mother?" Wednesday knew very little about that.

What she did know was that she hated that wicked smile of _Ms. Blood's_ and she hated that _Ms. Blood_ kept trying to make their father leave during his moments with their mother. And she hated the way _Ms. Blood_ looked at her mother; it was… evil. Raw evil.

Wednesday could see it in her eyes.

Ms. Blood's eyes were nothing like those of her daughter's. Ms. Blood was not the face of innocence.

But Wednesday didn't have to be like her mother to feel for her. She didn't have to be anyone. She didn't have to be here, she just wanted to leave! She just wanted to crawl into a whole and die. Forget everything.

Forget Scarlett. Forget Regina. Forget her goddamned eyes. Forget the dreams.

"But that isn't Scarlett's fault." Pugsley responded. "And I want to be nice to Ms. Blood. She's been through a lot."

"Who even _are you_?" Wednesday stood, upset.

Pugsley turned to face his sister. "I'm-" He couldn't say it. Whatever was going on with his sister, he could not add on letting her know that he was in love with Scarlett.

"Pugsley, something is wrong with Scarlett." Wednesday told him. "We were playing Hide and Shriek. I was in front of your bedroom door, and I found a-" She paused, taking notice of his complete outfit. "Where are you going?"

Pugsley wore a suit. A black suit with a grey undershirt, a black rose in the pocket… and their father's- the tie their father, had given him.

"Nowhere." Pugsley turned around and adjusted the cuffs of his shirt.

Wednesday refused to accept this.

She grabbed him, turning him to face her.

" _Where are you going?"_ Wednesday interrogated.

Pugsley couldn't take this anymore. He straightened his back, and his cheeks enflamed. _"I'm going to see Scarlett!"_ He yelled. "I am going to see Scarlett and no, I am not going to tell you where. And you are not going to go with me so don't even ask." He had never spoken this way to his sister in his life. He had no idea what to make of it; accept to continue with it. "Scarlett is a _beautiful, wonderful_ vampire. So, just get over what happened at the funeral! There is _nothing_ wrong with her! Scarlett is perfect and nice and- and _I love her_!" He admitted, finally, to her face. To someone's face. "So just accept it. And if I you find out where I am and I see you there or you try to sabotage any of my plans for tonight… you won't ever find out if there's a God. Because I won't be your torture victim anymore." He was out of breath.

Wednesday was in complete and utter shock.

Never, had Pugsley, ever… dared stand up to her.

And even if he had tortured her, it was in fun. It was sibling rivalry, but he never… he never had yelled at her like that. Never had her brother yelled at her to stay away… and meant it.

Before Wednesday could move, talk, breath… her brother walked out of the room.

Defeated, Wednesday fell backwards onto her brother's bed… lying flat on her back.

And trying desperately not to think about him, Scarlett, or the… dreams.

….

Tears of anticipation fell from the darkened sky (it having dawned its black evening attire, earlier than usual). The unsalted, watery substance created harmonic music as they crashed against the rocks, or rippled in the lake.

The black gazebo glowed in the center of the enchanting scene (due to the light of its capable surroundings)… as did the hearts of the pair who stood in it.

The Tiki torches had been lit, and they glowed in the blackness of the night (the only other source of light, coming from the moon).

As for the young boy whom stood, now, merely an arm's length apart from the young girl whom enraptured him… he decided it best not to let her know the true reason for his inviting her -and walking her- out here again, just yet.

"I had a great time with you yesterday." Pugsley told Scarlett. Then said, "You look beautiful today- _night._ " He hoped she wouldn't notice the error he had to correct in his last sentence.

"Thank you." Scarlett smiled.

She wore a short, scarlet, strapless and silk, high-low dress with spiraled, black thorn designs covering it. She wore scarlet heels with ankle straps and a thin (so thin, it was barely visible), moon white, chain choker. A bracelet that matched her choker, decorated her left hand.

Her hair was curled, and her nails were painted black.

"My mother bought yet another dress." Scarlett told him.

"It's very pretty." Pugsley remarked.

"Thank you." Scarlett took a small step closer to him. "I spent so long getting ready before meeting you in the cemetery earlier; I thought my mother was going to explode at me."

"Well, it shows." Pugsley then hastily added, "Not that I wouldn't have liked it if you hadn't done that. You always look lovely."

"Oh, Pugsley…" Scarlett would have blushed.

"This is for you."

Pugsley reached into the pocket of his suit, his hands gently grasping the wilted, black rose he had plucked for her a day prior, upon their having entered the secret sanctuary of macabre lovers. He took the delicate flower, and handed it to her; his eyes, sparkling with love for her.

"Oh…" Scarlett l0oked down at the rose, and her eyes enlarged at the beauty of the black flower. "It's…" She had no words.

"You don't like it?" Pugsley snapped his fingers. "I knew I should have gone with the red one-"

"No!" Scarlett shook her head. "No, Pugsley. I love it."

"Oh." Pugsley sighed in relief. "That's good." He reached into his pocket once again, now pulling out a sheet of parchment paper. "Because now it's time for the real reason I invited you here again."

Scarlett gave a soft laugh. "You mean you didn't bring me all the way out to the gazebo again just to hand me another rose and dance with me in the rain for another time?"

Pugsley shook his head. "No." He admitted. "But of course, that doesn't mean we still can't share another dance in the rain. I really enjoyed it."

"I'll have to think about it." Scarlett narrowed her eyes, a smirk playing at her lips. "I feel as though I've been deceived."

"Not at all." Pugsley assured her, taking a step closer to her. "This… is for you." He said.

Then, he held out the paper before him, cleared his throat, and began to read.

"Bloody Love.

Bats fluttered in my stomach,

The very first time,

I looked into your dark, red eyes.

My body stiffened, afraid, excited,

As you threw the knife into my mouth,

The apple blocked my panicked cries.

Your beauty is comparable,

To nothing,

But the night.

For it is then,

In your red eyes,

I see the faintest light.

 _It must be bloody love,_

I say,

Silently, to myself.

 _It must be bloody love,_

I pray,

The spirits cannot help.

Bats flew in the distance,

As we hopped across the stepping stones,

I took your hand and held it, tight.

I pulled you close and spun you, dipped you,

As we laughed and danced all eve,

I wish it never ended; but lasted well into the night.

Your dancing is comparable,

To nothing,

But the air.

As from black skies,

Dark clouds move to part,

For their mourning tears that did fall from there.

 _If this is bloody love,_

I say,

To you and no one else.

 _If this is bloody love,_

Then take,

Take me and all I have."

Scarlett swallowed, hard. She had never been closer to joyous tears in her entire twelve years of life. Her emotions were… almost uncontrollable.

Having finished reciting the poem, Pugsley neatly folded up the paper and tucked it in his pocket. He looked, deeply into Scarlett's eyes… and took her hands.

"Did you like the poem?"

Scarlett nodded.

Pugsley -taking the fact that she liked the poem as a very good sign, indeed- swallowed his anxiety and turned it into sweetness. He spoke. "I love you, Scarlett." He finally told her. "Every word that I wrote in that poem was true. Every feeling that I have for you; love, caring, desire… and every feeling that I get around you; excitement, happiness… love. Those are all real. Ever since I met you, three-hundred and forty hours and thirteen-point-three minutes ago, my life was changed."

 _How true._ Scarlett thought, as he continued.

"I can't imagine being without you. So," Pugsley got on one knee, reaching into his seemingly bottomless pocket and pulling out a black, dark wooden box.

He opened it; its contents revealed before her stunned eyes.

A black ring, with a bat design atop it, made entirely of rubies.

"Will you be my girlfriend?"

Scarlett could not believe the scene playing out that… she was a part of. She, and he, were the centerpieces of a magical scene… on a magical night… magical, beautiful, wonderful… why?

How badly she wished that it could all be real. It- _no._ Internally, she contradicted herself. _No. All of this, is real. All of this is very… very, real._

She would not cry. She would not cry. She did not cry.

"Oh, Pugsley…" Scarlett spread her fingers. " _yes, yes._ Of course, I will!"

Pugsley was ecstatic and his heart swelled with the love he had just professed. He slipped the ring on her finger.

"Where…" Scarlett was in awe. "Where did you get this?" She looked down at the ring.

"I had it imported from Paris. My mother told me about this store called _La Nuit Rubis_." His attempt at pronunciation was just that, but it was not dreadful. "And my father was happy to give me the money for it when I told him it was for a special girl."

Scarlett shook her head. "Oh, Pugsley… thank you." Tears were forming in the corners of her eyes, but she stopped them.

Pugsley stood up, and embraced her… planting a bloody loving kiss on her cheek.

….

In the absence of Ms. Blood -yet again-, dinner was going marvelously.

Máma's specialite de la maison decorated the plates of every member of the family (and Scarlett) with a dinner roll, and a salad of glossy gecko's eyes, sat in bowls adjacent to it. Glasses of blue, foaming liquid (Morskaya Pena) sat in line with their plates.

Most of the family talked and laughed as they ate the magnificent meal Máma had prepared (Scarlett included).

Most of them.

Gomez and his querida were all over one another, and had been since the start of their day together. Make-outs, kisses, hands and tongues.

The only way their dinners were being eaten was by way of feeding each other different parts of the food. Bloodberries, missing from their meals did not stop them. It made them more creative.

Gomez popped an eye into Morticia's mouth. _"Eres divina…"_

Her husband's Spanish compliment sent shivers down Morticia's spine. _"Mmm… je t'adore, mon amour."_ She purred.

" _Te atesoro, mi hermosa diosa."_ Gomez pulled her close to him and met her lips, passionately, not letting go of her.

" _Tu es tout pour moi, mon extase."_ Morticia extended her arm and allowed her ecstasy's lips to leave that devoted, very willing, passionate trail of slavery up her arm.

Observing this, Pugsley gave an internal, frustrated sigh.

Before, he likely would have nearly regurgitated his gecko's eyes, as his sister was likely thinking of doing.

Or just talk to Máma, or Scarlett.

However, it was different now. Now… now, he was in a relationship.

He watched as his father's lips ascended up his mother's arm; and envisioned what it would be like to do that to Scarlett.

He couldn't. Not without practice.

In his mind… in a world, entirely his own, the scene was different. However, in actuality, the scene that unfolded at the kitchen table was Pugsley, crudely representing what was taking place before his eyes; whenever he looked up from the forks he was playing with to stage what was taking place (a semi-silent movie, with one… slightly mad, director).

Morticia fed her husband an eye from her plate.

Gomez nipped at her fingers as his mouth enclosed around the piece of food; his hands, wrapped tight around her waist.

" _Ah,"_ Morticia sighed, adoring the feeling of his teeth against her skin. "Trying to eat more than the eyes, are we?" She questioned, leaning back -having been sitting on his lap for the past three minutes- and craned her neck.

" _Well, of course."_ Gomez growled and raised an eyebrow, squeezing her thin waist. "I'm assuming we want something?"

Morticia closed her eyes, in bliss. _"We do."_ She smirked.

Gomez eyed her, hungrily and began to devour her neck.

Noticing his mother's new seating arrangements, Pugsley twirled his fork, attempting to bend the silverware to sit upon its twin.

The eating utensil being metal, it did no such thing.

Still, Pugsley tried, desperately needing to watch some… version of the interactions between his parents take place between the forks.

It was as if the metal was unbendable...

Frustrated, Pugsley threw down the forks and picked up his spoons (not seeming to comprehend if one metal object was unbendable, then another would be as well).

This caused Scarlett to wear a concerned expression. She moved her hand closer to him. "Pugsley, what are you doing?" She questioned.

Wednesday side-eyed her (everything Scarlett did was erroneous in her mind). "Wouldn't _you_ like to know?" She snapped.

Scarlett turned to Wednesday, briefly. Confused, she gently replied, "Yes. I would."

" _Mi amore…"_ Gomez caressed her cheek, passion for her in his dark eyes. "I adore you."

"Je t'aime, mon cher." Morticia kissed him, a porcelain hand pressed against his shoulder.

Under the table where no one could see, Gomez grabbed her ass.

Morticia tried to suppress the low, erotic moan -having some decency- in front of her children. She kissed him, sending the noise into his mouth and pulling him close to her.

Esmeralda tried to keep her eyes on either her grandchildren or her food. However, she had stopped eating the gecko eyes as soon as the couple across from her began eating them (it was a fortunate thing she had started with them).

She loved her son-in-law and her daughter dearly. However, seeing her daughter like this was giving her flashbacks to when she walked in a week ago and making her wish she was on a permanent vacation… six feet underground.

Still, she could agree with her grandchildren in saying she would take this, any day over distance. There was something about those two… yes, they were incurably, openly romantic with one another. But it was impossible not to love them.

Esmeralda sighed, and shook her head; then looking up at the two, finally. "I don't think the paperboy likes us very much."

For some reason, the conversation had died. So she decided to try and pick it back up again.

Morticia, still held tightly by her husband, turned to her mother. "Why?"

"He never comes to the door." Esmeralda explained. "Or the gate. Gate opened for him, perfectly well the first time and he ran away, screaming."

Morticia shook her head. "Gate and Thing… I hate it when people run away from them without even getting to know them first."

Gomez nodded, in agreement. Then cocked his head. "Well, how about that paperboy? He walks all the way up the hill just to run back down again?"

"Well the first time he did it, he didn't even drop off the paper!" Esmeralda took a sip of her drink.

"When was this?" Morticia asked, comfortable in her diable's strong arms.

"Two weeks ago." Máma replied.

"I'll speak to him, Máma." Morticia told her.

"You amaze me, querida." Gomez kissed her cheek. "If he gives you any trouble, my dearest, you let me know. I'll be more than happy to take care of him."

Morticia smiled and turned to meet his eyes. "The paperboy's likely no more than fifteen."

"And?" Gomez stroked her hair. "When I tell you I'd kill for you, it doesn't have an age limit."

Morticia laughed, softly. _"Mon beau diable…"_ She leaned in for a kiss.

" _Mi hermosa diosa…"_ Gomez's lips met hers; intensely passionate, as ever.

Esmeralda sighed. "Thank you. You have saved me from the hell of confronting the paperboy." She bit into her dinner roll. "I thank you, Gomez thanks you, Gate thanks you. But most importantly, _your country_ thanks you."

Morticia leaned into Gomez fully and turned back to her mother, rolling her eyes, teasingly. "Well, I appreciate the heartfelt expression of gratitude, Máma." She said, sarcastically. "But it isn't necessary. I'll simply tell him that we would like the paper delivered at the front door. I'll introduce him to Gate, as well. I know Gate isn't always eager to open up to strangers. But I'm sure he'll warm up to the paperboy." She paused. "Didn't you say Gate opened up for him the first time?" She asked her mother.

Máma nodded. "Fully, creaks and all. I think Gate liked the kid until he ran off."

Morticia processed this. Then asked, "Gate doesn't open up for him anymore, then?"

"Well, I can't say. Gate hasn't really had the chance." Máma said. "I mean, if the paperboy even gets up to Gate -which has only happened five times- it'll take persistence. But Gate will open."

"I'll bring it up when I talk to him. He comes around noon, correct?"

"Noon, exactly." Esmeralda affirmed.

Morticia sighed. _"Well,"_ She turned back to Gomez, pressing her temple against his. "Wake me up before noon tomorrow."

Gomez bit his lip. _"Cara mia…"_ He looked into her eyes. "You mean to tell me _the paperboy_ is going to steal you away from me?"

" _No one_ is going to steal me away from you." Morticia promised. "I'll be back in your embrace by one."

"Why one?" Gomez pouted.

Morticia smirked. "Because I like to torture you."

" _Sadist."_ Gomez groaned.

" _Your_ sadist." Morticia kissed him, biting his lip.

Wednesday could not stop glaring at Scarlett.

That girl… that vampire was the reason her brother had said what he had, to her this morning.

It wasn't like it was when others did things like… running off or picking a fight. They did that of their own, conscious mind. And Pugsley-

He had, too; she realized.

She just refused to accept it.

Even still, Scarlett was evil. There was something wrong with her. The face of innocence never was… never. There was always a devil, hiding behind that angelic mask. Or else, why wear said angelic mask to begin with?

Pugsley had by now, given up playing with his silverware. He stared into Scarlett's eyes, enthralled by her.

Wednesday rolled her eyes. "So, Pugsley? Have you finished off your summer reading book?" She asked her brother.

Pugsley snapped out of his trance and turned to his sister. "Yep." He responded. "Thing helped me burn it this morning."

Wednesday was expressionless of face (as usual). "You burned yours?" She sighed. "I forced someone else to get rid of mine through brutal forms of slave labour. I also subjected the victim to Chinese water torture." She told her brother. "Do you know of Alex Essleman?" She inquired.

Pugsley nodded. "Yea. He's the biggest bully in your grade."

Wednesday shook her head. "Not anymore."

Scarlett -having heard this- gulped.

Wednesday's piercing gaze fell upon her. "What?"

"Nothing." Scarlett said.

"You think I went easy on him?" Wednesday hadn't.

But she thought, perhaps, she could figure out if Scarlett Blood truly did lust for its spilling… or rather just, its taste.

"No." Scarlett assured her. "I don't. I think… it's a creative way to get rid of a summer reading book."

She was good. She was very good.

Wednesday could be better.

"I didn't do it to get rid of the book." Wednesday's eyes leveled. "I did it to get rid of the boy."

"I see." Scarlett pushed her chair a bit closer to Pugsley's.

Wednesday did not miss this movement.

Pugsley was about to take her hand (forgetting Wednesday was the only member of his family who was aware of his love for her), sensing her unease when Scarlett looked down at her food, and picked up a fork.

The food looked delicious to Scarlett but what… was it?

Scarlett turned to Gomez and Morticia. She spoke. "The meal that Ms. Máma has prepared looks delicious." She remarked.

Máma winked, giving an invisible tip of the hat.

"But, may I ask," Scarlett glanced down at her plate, then back to Gomez and his black angel. She asked, then, politely: "What is this?"

Wednesday and Esmeralda stared at the young girl as though she had just committed a mortal sin (although even then, she probably would have been looked at better).

Pugsley's eyes were filled with futuristic empathy.

Scarlett shrugged, unsure of what she had said or done to deserve such expressions.

Morticia answered her, slowly turning to Gomez as she did. "Máma's _specialite de la maison_."

" _Oh, Tish…"_ Gomez groaned and took his wife's hand, kissing it and devouring her fingers.

He began to work his way up her arm, and Morticia wrapped her arms around his neck… leaning in for another passionate kiss.

Scarlett was now sure of what she had said to deserve such expressions.

Gomez's fingers ran through her hair, and he delved deeper into the kiss. _"I love you."_ He could not help but smile at her.

"Mmm… _I love you,_ mon amour." Morticia kissed him again.

No matter how many nicknames she had, or beautiful Spanish, Italian -and sometimes, another language in the heat of their moments together- phrases and terms of endearment Gomez bestowed upon her… it made her heart swell to hear him say those three words: _I love you._

He did. She did. They loved each other, more than anyone or anything else in existence.

Gomez continued to shower his querida in affection, adoring her, worshipping her-

 _Gomez!_

No. Not this. Not when everything was going perfectly.

 _Gomez!_

The headache was back. But… no. He refused to bend to her will right now; perhaps the voice was not even there. No. No. No-

 _Gomez!_

His head hurt like hell. But he would be damned if he let it show.

 _We had a deal,_ hot-blood. _Don't you forget that._ Her voice snapped. _Now, if you want me to get rid of this headache, I need a favour._ _And I need it now. Meet me in the upstairs living room._

Gomez attempted to fight it. God, his head was throbbing. It was as if someone were taking one thousand, sharp-pointed needles and jabbing them into his brain.

 _Get your ass on the second floor._

Gomez pulled his Tish deeper into their kiss, desperately needing her… and needing to stop the headache that wouldn't stop. It wouldn't stop. Stop. Stop. Stop-

 _Gomez!_

His head was pounding, the agony was worse than it had ever been, and-

 _Gomez!_

" _Gomez!"_

Regina's voice rang in his ears, and throughout the house.

Gomez squinted, endeavoring to conceal the unrelenting anguish.

Morticia had been in her own seat for a couple of minutes. She and Gomez had been all over each other; she wasn't even sure which seat she was in… until now.

Now, it was silent.

Nobody moved. Nobody talked. Nobody breathed.

Morticia eyed her husband, arms still tight around his neck.

Gomez sighed and shook his head (even that caused great suffering; although that was trivial to the hell that… this was going to be). He looked, deeply into the eyes of his encantadora, then gently lifted her arms from his neck and held her hands, planting a passionate kiss on them. "Tish, my black angel-"

 _Gomez!_

"Te amo." Gomez stood and kissed his amore, one last time… before leaving again.

Morticia sat there, in devastated shock.

The silence at the table remained.

Esmeralda broke it, with the wrong tool. "But, I thought he said-"

"Máma, _please_." Morticia shook her head, straightening up a bit and readjusting… facing all at the table. She met her mother's eyes. "Whatever it is, it must be… very important." She swallowed, hard but noiselessly and cast a glance at her daughter. "Wednesday, play with your food."

Wednesday immediately did as she was told. But looking at her mother's face… it was expressionless. "Yes, mother." She replied.

The last words spoken at the dinner table, that night… were spoken by Wednesday Addams.

They moved, but they didn't talk.

And Mrs. Addams… she sat, straight up, never excusing herself from the table. But she felt like she couldn't breathe.

….

Wednesday had been sitting at her vanity mirror for the past thirteen minutes, unable to get the… dreams, out of her head.

They could not possibly have been real and yet- yet she had seen, things… she had seen things she could not possibly explain otherwise.

Everything in those… dreams looked so very real. And yet, her mother, now was so… quietly powerful, enchanting (not just in terms of beauty but… everything).

If the dreams were not real, then why had her subconscious even fathomed such a life for her mother?

Wednesday had never questioned… when Morticia told the children her father had died, she had not gone into great detail about his death. She had only given lengthy and wonderful descriptions of her father, and what a good man he was.

That had been plenty of information for Wednesday, and her younger brother.

Was she curious? Yes.

But there was a great element of mystery about Wednesday's mother, and it felt almost like a violation to ask her such questions as exactly how her father died… how did it affect her… did it still?

However, recently, more than ever, she had found herself wondering… on occasion. Not just about her deceased grandfather, but about her mother's past that she rarely disclosed any information about.

It was not merely for the purposes of understanding her mother better; but rather, it was for the purposes of easing her own distress.

Turning into her mother was something that worried her immensely. Perhaps, knowing a bit more about her past would ease that feeling.

It had done the opposite.

But it was not even real. Was it?

She took out her braids, then, questioningly.

And she studied herself in the corner-cracked vanity mirror.

Her height (although she was sitting) was different from her mother's. Her mother was tall, standing at five-foot-nine. Whereas Wednesday was five-foot-two.

She and her mother were both lithe, but her mother was curvier… she could tell, by the tight yet elegant clothing she wore.

Their lips were both pale, although Wednesday never covered hers with lipstick the shade of her favourite wine. Then again, she didn't drink.

Wednesday never wore makeup, whereas her mother did. But she did paint her nails… as did her mother. However, even the colour of their nail polish was not exactly the same. Her mother's nails were usually crimson or blood red… Wednesday's -shockingly- were lighter.

Her hair was raven, so close to her mother's that it would be impossible to tell the difference unless one was paying attention, or they were standing in certain lights. Her mother's hair, was darker. It was as black as midnight.

Her skin… it was pale. It was pale white, so pale white that the girls in gym class would call her the ghost. That is until one day, the most popular and snobbish girl in class didn't show up for two whole weeks and they asked Wednesday where she was; to which Wednesday replied: Now you have a real ghost to give the nickname to.

But despite how pale her skin was, the girls in gym class would have dropped dead had they caught a glimpse of Wednesday's mother. _She_ , was pale. Her complexion was as white as the snow that had fallen on the night of her birth.

Wednesday's eyes…

She stared, unblinking… unmoving.

They were just like her mother's.

Her eyes… she had always thought her eyes to be soulless, as everyone always told her they were. However,-Wednesday realized- her mother never did.

Her eyes -looking into them- were not soulless. They were hiding behind a bleak mask of emptiness; a façade of a cold lacking in soul when in fact, ever since the day she was born… they had been _two dark brown orbs of mystery_ , the entire time.

Wednesday, as if in a trance, picked up her hairbrush and began to run it through her thick, raven tresses.

And she began to sing.

"Oh, whistling, why are you feeling so shy?

Wind comes 'round at dusk and blows 'till night is nigh.

The wolves are hiding,

As drops of snow fall,

But I am so old,"

" _I have lived through it all."_

The other voice… it sang in unison with Wednesday, and that voice sounded so familiar; it was… it was her mother's voice.

Entranced, Wednesday continued to sing and her eyes locked into the background in her vanity mirror.

 _A baby girl._

 _She was pale, petite, and swaddled in a black, soft blanket. Her head, full of thick, raven hair poked out of it._

 _A twenty-eight year old Morticia stood in the corner of the room, rocking the baby girl to sleep… with a song, sung in time with the young girl in the mirror._

 _She wore her makeup, still and was clothed in a formfitting black nightgown that swept the floor, with elbow-length sleeves, that was lowcut in a deep V-neck. Her hair was pushed over her right shoulder. She wore her wedding ring, and the ring… the completely black one, adorned with black diamonds, that her father had given her._

 _The baby girl was Wednesday._

The dark room looked perfect for an Addams girl.

It was dark and desolate; a dream.

The walls were a dark version of light brown… with that history the Addams' so adored, but painted on them were black, Victorian gothic designs. And the floor was of dark-coloured wood.

A twin bed, of ebony wood with black and grey bedsheets was placed near the closed window; which was half-covered by black, gothic drapes. The image of a grey, macabre octopus was painted on the edge of the bed. Against the wall, was a black bookshelf... filled to the brim with macabre poetry (mainly Edgar Allen Poe ), horrour novels, skulls and a Ouija board.

 _Morticia rocked her daughter, lulling her to sleep._

The sky was grey. Tears poured from their puffy, ash-coloured forms. They would cry, likely, throughout the night.

" _Child, don't cry,_

 _I'll be there soon,"_

"I'll never leave you for I am the moon." Wednesday froze.

She had finally come to terms with her trance, and she stopped singing… afraid of what would happen, should she chose to continue.

Shaking hands set down her hairbrush.

Her mother's eyes never left her vanity.

And then she realized… her bedroom… it was _her_ bedroom.

The bedroom Wednesday had slept in for as long as she could remember, was the bedroom she had seen in her subconscious state, last night. It had always been her bedroom, ever since the night she had been brought home from the hospital.

The walls… they had been painted over with new designs, but they were the same walls. The floor… it was of the same, dark-coloured wood and the ebony bed she slept in was built from the cradle her mischievous younger brother had taken apart.

The bookshelf… the black bookshelf, filled with everything she held dark and dear… she had selected Edgar Allen Poe books to read from that bookshelf since it had been placed in her room.

The… dreams, they were real. They were not dreams at all, they were visions of the past. And they were real.

They had to be.

" _I'll never leave you, for I am the moon."_

Wednesday blinked, vigorously and jumped up from her vanity.

It was all too much, too… too soon. Too much. Too much. Stop, just, stop!

She darted to bed, eyes looking down at the floor (not wishing to risk seeing the vision she had been- _still was_ , trapped in).

She blew out her candles, and pulled her blankets up to her chest, then getting into her usual sleeping position (although nothing about anything felt usual anymore).

She shut her mother's- shut _her_ eyes… and made a desperate attempt at a visionless sleep.

At sleep at all.

….

 _Now this is the point. You fancy me mad. Madmen know nothing. But you should have seen me._

Morticia read The Tell-Tale Heart, upset… she always did whenever she was upset, or missing her father. And in this case (as it had been so for the past couple of weeks now; more furiously these past few hours), she was both.

Propped up by the pillows, and half-sitting atop the grey silk and satin bedsheets… she continued to read the same copy of the book as had been read to her at five, by her father… whose death still both scarred and haunted her; and whom she missed, greatly.

 _I proceeded -with what caution -with what foresight -with what dissimulation I went to work! I was never kinder to the old man than during the whole week before I killed him._

If she didn't read, she would be forced to think. She would be forced to think about the events leading to her sitting there, reading instead of being with him.

No, even if somehow she were not angry, saddened… hurt over dinner, over everything; she still would have been there, reading. Alone, physically despite his promises-

 _Ha! would a madman have been so wise as this, And then, when my head was well in the room, I undid the lantern cautiously-oh, so cautiously -cautiously (for the hinges creaked) -I undid it just so much that a single thin ray fell upon the vulture eye._

Morticia wore a long, black nightgown that swept the floor when she stood. It was lowcut in a deep V-neck and silk, formfitting with elbow-length sleeves that flowed out a bit.

Her makeup was still on, and her toenails were painted black. Her nails were painted crimson.

All of her jewelry was off, except for her wedding ring.

She refused to think. She… God, no. She couldn't think.

 _And this I did for seven long nights -every night just at midnight -but I found the eye always closed; and so it was impossible to do the work;_

Her father always was the magnificent storyteller. He got so… involved when reading anything, especially to Morticia.

He was… he was a wonderful father. The best father in the world to his daughter.

 _Don't think. Just read._

 _for it was not the old man who vexed me, but his Evil Eye._

But it was impossible not to think; and a single tear fell from Morticia's eyes and stained the page of her book, falling onto the sentence she had just read.

However, she held back the flood inside of her. She was well-practiced at the fine art of hiding one's emotions.

 _So you see he would have been a very profound old man, indeed, to suspect that every night, just at twelve, I looked in upon him while he slept._

 _Upon the eighth night I was more than usually cautious in opening the door._

Knock.

Morticia did not look up from her book, knowing perfectly well who it was.

The children were asleep; and Máma never knocked.

She did -although she kept her eyes on the page- speak. "If your chores are done for the day, then I suppose you can come in."

Into their bedroom walked her husband, shutting the door behind him.

He looked at her, apology written all over his features. "Tish-"

Morticia cut him off, still not looking at him. "Has Ms. Blood signed off that you've completed your duties? Or has that -hell only knows why- responsibility been left to me?" She asked, sarcasm an upset lacing her wounded voice; though her face was stoic.

Gomez felt incredibly guilty; it was tearing him apart. "My darling, please…" He began. "allow me to make this right."

"You mean like last night?" Morticia looked up at him now, angered and hurt. "Or the night before?"

Gomez sighed. "Cara mia, I promise you… I am trying to do the best I can."

Morticia scoffed. "For whom?"

"For you." Gomez approached the edge of the bed with caution.

When he did sit down, Morticia moved her legs.

Gomez's heart ached. "My dearest, I… you do not know, how hard it is not to be able to tell you."

"Tell me what?" Morticia questioned, sitting up fully. _"Why?"_ She set down her book, no longer as stoic. "You… apologized. You not only apologized, you _heard_ how I feel about that woman and how I felt about the fact that you _didn't even ask_ me if we should allow her to stay. You _saw_ the hurt on my face, and heard it in my voice when I alluded to you that _it broke me_ when you left me in the middle of dinner. You _apologized_. _You promised me_ that-" She shook her head. "You left then, and you left earlier after you promised me you wouldn't. _You promised me._ " Her voice cracked. But she composed herself, and continued. "Why won't you tell me the truth? What is going on? _Who is she? Why did you leave me in the middle of dinner?_ " She paused, then adding: "Again?"

"Mi encantadora," Gomez felt awful. He was under stress, yes, but that didn't matter to him right now.

The big picture that had been painted did not make him feel like an artist. It made him feel like a bastard.

And that was something he never wanted to be; not to Morticia.

He looked into her eyes. "You know I worship you. You know I adore you. I would do anything for you. But, Tish…" How could he explain this to her? Even a part of it, without their being consequences?He couldn't.

But he could explain why.

"If anything ever happened to you, I could never forgive myself. And, for that reason… I cannot tell you." He said, finally.

Morticia stiffened. "Gomez, I can't sleep without your protection. But for the first eighteen years of my life, I couldn't live without my own." She stated. "Now, I have you. But, it doesn't mean you don't have me. _You know_ , that I am as much a protector in this family as you are. And I want to know what is going on." Morticia demanded. _"Now."_

"Cara mia, of course." Gomez nodded, in as much understanding as he could capacitate. " _I know_ how _incredibly_ strong you are. Believe me, I tell everyone I know and I tell you all of the time. My darling, just because I have an incredible urge to protect you, and I will protect you with everything I have, _with my life_ … it does not mean I think you cannot protect yourself. I am fully aware that you can. That you have, when I wasn't there. But _I love you_ , I love you more than anyone or anything, that there is, ever was or ever will be. I could fill up a series of history books with my feelings for you, mi amore. And it still would not be enough paper to describe how deep my _love, respect and adoration_ goes for you." He said. "And because of that, I need to protect you. Because if anything ever happened to you, I couldn't bare it. And I certainly could not live with myself." He sat a bit closer to her, but she remained stiff. "Tish, if you knew what-"

"But I _don't_ know!" Morticia had reached her breaking point. "I'd _like_ to know! _I trust you_ , mon cher; I trust you with all of my heart but I don't know what you've been doing or _why_ you've been _lying to me_ and _it kills me_! And you hold me in your arms and you apologize and you tell me that you understand, and you're sorry; _and then you walk away when she calls y0ur name once_! And all I want to know is _why_!" She had never truly yelled at her husband. Never. She didn't think she could, but… she could. And she did.

Gomez had never seen his black angel's true hurt and anger unleashed until now and it tore him apart, creating new guilt and new feelings of pure sorrow for his treasure.

This, was hell… for both of them.

He felt awful for everything he had put her through.

"I'm sorry." Gomez said, honestly. "Querida, believe me; I would be livid with me too. You are handling this much better than I ever would with myself." He moved closer to her, and put a hand on her legs.

Morticia allowed this, out of breath and arms, elegantly crossed.

"I'm sorry." Gomez said again. "I need you to know that I love you and _only_ , you. And if you ever had any doubts about that, I would be shattered. And I will never stop apologizing for this, when it is all over. And I promise, _I promise,_ " He squeezed her leg, assuredly. "It will be. Please, allow me to explain. Please."

Morticia nodded.

"Thank you, mi corazón. Now, don't be angry with me. I don't know if I can take the black dragon's fire that is your rage, again." He smirked. "But I… cannot tell you, right now. I can tell you why I do what I do… but I cannot explain what that is. But my most important reason for all of this… is you." _I don't know what repercussions I might face if I…_ he wanted to add; but, he held his tongue. "I will do whatever it takes to protect you, because I love you. Even if it means your angry at me. _But please_ , don't be. I would never want to hurt you. Nor, would I want- _will I let_ , anyone or anything else hurt you. So, I cannot tell you."

Morticia nodded, again. "In all of our years together, you never once left in the middle of dinner. Until recently." She told him, meeting his eyes.

Gomez -still on the bed- got on his knees before her and looked deeply into her eyes, hands on her legs. "Mi hermosa diosa, you are right. And I am so incredibly, sorry for all of the hurt that I have caused you. You, cara mia, are my world, my life, my death, my oxygen… without you, I would die. You are an enchantment. You are strong, intelligent, and the most beautiful woman there is, has ever been and ever will be. You are everything to me, my treasure. When I met you, you were all that was of importance in my life. Fuck the money, the haunted mansion, none of that mattered. None of it ever truly did. The only thing I couldn't bare to lose was you. And it has always been that way, it still is that way." Still on his knees, he inched closer to her and took her hands, kissing them passionately. "My dearest, _please_ forgive me. I will do whatever it takes to show you how very much I do worship and adore you." Not coming off of his knees, Gomez lifted her nightgown, held her long leg and began to leave a trail of kisses, down. Between which, he spoke. "I will crawl on my stomach through hot coals and broken glass. I will swim through burning acid and radioactive waste. I will rip out my still-beating heart and give it as a sacrifice to your shrine. You say the word, and I will do it. Mi amore de mi vida, you say jump and my only response will be a passionate kiss and how high is the building." He had gotten to her small, delicate foot and his lips met it. Then, he crawled closer to her. "My black angel, I am begging you, please… I… I know, I made an inexcusable mistake and oh, mi corazón; I wish I could promise you that while she is here there will not be any more." Gomez admitted… begging on his knees before his only. "But what I can promise is that you are my everything and without you I not only have nothing, I am nothing. I can promise that I will be with you, and only you, for the rest of eternity. I can promise, that I will never let anything happen to you… ever. I can promise that I will not get off of my knees, physically until I have your forgiveness. And I don't care if I have to sit here like this all night." He told her. "Metaphorically, I never will. I am a slave for you and I will forever be. Please, allow me to make it up to you. Let me hold you. I've hurt you enough and I feel the need to torture myself for it."

"Don't torture yourself, Gomez." Morticia smirked. "That's my job."

Gomez grinned. _"Cara mia…"_ He caressed her cheek. " _I love you._ And I am, truly sorry… for all of this."

Morticia smiled, starved for contact with him. _"I love you, too."_ She looked into his eyes. "And I forgive you."

At her words, Gomez crawled on top of her, hovering over her. "Tish… my beautiful Tish…" He shook his head, and kissed her hand. "What did I do to deserve you?" His lips met hers, then, in a passionate meeting.

Soon, his hands were in her hair and she was under him, completely.

The lovers reveled in every moment, every touch, every adrenalizing sensation they had been craving, all evening.

Gomez's pleasure was brought not only by the feeling of his encantadora's soft, porcelain, ice-cold skin against his own. But it was brought by being her ecstasy, and showering her in devoted physical adoration… bringing her to orgasm, hearing her cry out his name; her nails, digging into his skin… it was something he could never get enough of.

Spent, the amorous pair now lied as close to each other as possible; Gomez holding his black angel tight in his arms.

Morticia rested her head on Gomez's shoulder, exhausted but filled with contentment and love for her amour.

Gomez kissed her cheek, then blowing out the candle beside their bed. He looked down at her, passion for his querida, burning in his eyes.

"Mi encantadora…" Gomez met her lips, unable to resist her.

Morticia's leg was draped over him, and her nails drummed against his bare chest. She yawned, adjusting and moving up a bit.

"I know what that means." Gomez remarked, and let his nails run over her back.

Morticia sighed, blissfully. "Je t'aime, mon amour." She purred.

"Eres divina…" Gomez kissed her.

Morticia's eyes closed, then, and she slowly began to drift off to sleep. "Goodnight, mon cher."

Gomez planted a kiss on her forehead. "Goodnight, cara mia."

Morticia soon fell to sleep… contented smile on her face.

Gomez, seeing his wife had fallen into a slumber, gave a sigh of relief. He kissed her temple again… then allowing himself to get some much-needed sleep.

….

No trail of blood stained the carpet of the living room. No bloodied corpse of a recently murdered rabbit did lie at the feet of whomever sat at the couch. The fire did not dance tonight (saving its energy for the main event, it was)… no. It just burned.

"And?" Regina asked her daughter.

She wore her a blood red nightgown. It was silk, and extended down past her ankles. The nightgown was lowcut in a plunging sweetheart neckline, and had off-shoulder, cutout sleeves. With it, she wore matching slippers.

All of her jewelry had been removed.

Her nails were painted black, and her makeup was still on.

Scarlett had barely taken her eyes off of the dark outside… she looked out at the cemetery from the large, living room window.

She had been doing so since her mother had called her into the room… a half an hour ago.

Tears poured from the black clouds in the sky… an omen, perhaps.

Or perhaps… it was just another storm.

Scarlett cast a glance at her mother. "Are you sure we have to do this?" She asked, then hastily added: "This soon, I mean."

Regina crossed her arms, gracefully. "Yes. Scarlett, this isn't a game of checkers. We can't just decide when we want to do things and when we don't." She eyed her daughter, intensely. "It's time."

Scarlett appeared rather upset, but said nothing. "They've called?" She asked.

Regina nodded. "Oh, yes. God, I've been _dying_ to get back there." She rolled her head back, leaning a bit on her heels. "Humans consider it an oddity to drink blood from wine glasses." She muttered, then turned back to her daughter. "Now… how has it been?"

"It's been…" Scarlett played with the fabric of her nightgown, and straightened her back.

Toughen up. It's time.

Her nightgown was ivory, silk and short with black spiral designs covering it and black lace lining. It was spaghetti-strapped, and cut in a straight-across square-neck. She wore black slippers, and all of her jewelry was off.

"It's been wonderful." She told her mother. "I've observed and… done more than observe."

Regina took a sip of red wine (a cheap substitute for her usual, but it was the best she could do). "Well, I've always taught you: do what you must." She raised a finger. _"The ends justify the means."_

Scarlett nodded. _"The ends justify the means."_ She said, under her breath. "It's been romantic, and… I've been treated like a… a, goddess. It's like I can do no wrong."

Regina nodded, impatiently. "Go on."

"Well," Scarlett looked back out the window, then. "Are you sure this can't wait?"

Regina eyed her daughter, strangely.

Wine nearly through, she decided to stop beating around the bush. She was growing irritated. _"Is he the one?"_ She asked, red eyes drilling holes into her daughter.

Scarlett turned her head from the window to meet her mother's eyes. She gave a small yet affirmative nod. "He's perfect."


	7. The Big Picture

Chapter 6: The Big Picture

Ashes.

The grey particles of emptiness sat like vegetables in the dust-laden tray.

Dust… layers upon layers - _twenty-three years-_ , of dust; impenetrable dust, covered over the ash tray. There were possibly hundreds of more ash trays in which cigars and cigarettes had been callously thrown in the innocent days of he and his brother's youth. But now that dust covered those days… the dust on the trays, in the mind and… in the heart. Thick, impenetrable layers of dust.

Haunting years of searching only having never (almost; the first two years were hell, but then…) been so, due to his black angel… the beautiful creature of midnight who had saved him all those twenty-one years ago.

In contrast to his, her skin was ice.

But she was his resurrection.

Her skin… was as cold as that of a corpse; but her electrifying touch (from the very first moment she did touch him), was enough to restart his frozen heart.

The dankness of the basement train room never bothered Gomez Addams much. Contrary; it gave him a sense of quiet in the mustiness of the past.

He used to frequent the room, with its brown, brick walls and studded stone floor. An array of miscellaneous, stolen- _collected_ , road signs, car parts or public health warning notices, placed in the corners… hung on the walls. The elderly park bench, somehow frequently moving its position in the room. Of course, the collection of ash trays… scattered about the room. Only one, in use… standing next to the park bench. And a coat rack (it, too, covered in… dust) stuck near the door. A black conductor's cap, hanging neatly off of it (untouched by the dust on the coat rack).

The train set… the centerpiece of the whole damn thing. The real, working set of trains. They were large, dark but varied in type, and all expensive in cost. When running, steam shot from their engines. They only ran… when their conductor's emotions were running with them.

He used to frequent the room, with his brother and run the trains, intentionally causing them to crash… until that wasn't enough. One day, they had had enough of mediocre crashes… and they began to blow them up. They stuck dynamite under the covered bridge, lit a stick next to Dead Man's curve… did anything they could, just as long as it ended with those trains going up in smoke and fire.

And as the brothers got older, they began to crash the trains again… blowing them up at the same time.

Then, almost as quickly as the doors of the basement train room had shut behind their innocence… it, in its entirety, had vanished.

Had the doors shut behind his brother when he left? Or had he used some other… less non-discreet technique to leave the mansion… to leave the family… to leave him?

Had the note explaining why (which he had never bothered to write) been on his mind? Or had it vanished from his mind as quickly as he had vanished from his brother's life?

His remnants remained.

 _Their_ remnants remained.

Gomez tapped his hundred-dollar cigar against the side of the dust-laden ash tray.

Bringing the cigar to his lips, smoking it… he pondered:

Were their remnants all that was left?

Gomez exhaled, a grey cloud of smoke encircling him.

But he had been used to the foggy isolation, once upon two decades ago.

Used to it… being without who had been his wingman, his confidant, his compadre… his brother, for so long. Used to isolation… used to a void, used to agony. Used to feeling betrayed, but more than all of that… used to immense guilt.

The kind that made one's stomach turn at the mere thought; that was what he lived.

He would be damned if his children lived the same.

Forever, until the day he saw his brother again (if, that is, he ever did), would he tell his children never to allow a thing like pride… like jealousy, to drive them apart. Never to allow the tormenting cries of their own demons to silence the words of love that are spoken by one another.

Not everyone is so fortunate to find a black angel.

And the only thing his children could truly depend on was one another, and their parents. But if anything happened to them, they would need each other.

And if one were to vanish… the other would be just as lost.

Gomez could remember well the day he lost both of his parents.

He and his Tish both wished the children could have known them better.

But tell that to an angry mob.

Without his encantadora, he would have never have gotten through that period of which it was raining but the sun was shining… the damned sun was shining.

 _Take off that ridiculous conductor's cap._ His father would say, after allowing himself into the train room to have a talk with his son.

He was one of the few people Gomez opened up to as a young man. Perhaps that was due to the fact that Alistair was so similar to his son.

He had a level of understanding with him that almost no one could reach.

 _A stern man, when he chose to be._ Gomez thought, taking another puff of his cigar. _A great man… able to pull himself out of anything he had found himself in… over anything I had found myself in._

Rosemary.

His mother's accent had been unique (an English tint… but not quite; something was… different about it).

She was a strong woman; confident and humourous. She kept Alistair in line.

God knows what would have happened, if she hadn't been there to do so.

She could never have understood Gomez quite as well as his father… but she always tried.

A hunt of a smile danced on Gomez's lips. _And she was a damn good mother._ He recalled.

His eyes became downcast as his thoughts directed themselves toward Regina.

Her presence was disrupting the only thing that kept him sane.

 ** _That beast has to leave_** _\- when she pleases._

Blasted, bloody big picture.

But the blood that that big picture had been painted with, was slowly dripping from its edges… and creating a puddle of ruby liquid on the floor.

He would not allow anyone… not himself, certainly not his Tish… to take a single step in that puddle, no matter what the consequences.

But venture near it? That was something he was willing to do to force her out- _later._

 _Later, my dearest._ He could hear his querida's beautiful voice, now, just thinking about her.

Right now… his Tish was soon to awaken, he knew.

So, he rose from the park bench with a sense of renewed purpose, hung that ridiculous conductor's cap on the coat rack… and exited the room, to watch his black angel's eyes flutter open.

….

She slept for exactly seven-and-a-half hours, uninterrupted, every night. No matter what time she had gone to bed, she slept seven-and-a-half hours.

Last night had been no different.

It was as is the visions had never occurred at all… only that, was not the case.

Wednesday Addams still remembered every detail of them.

The way her mother's eyes stared into her mirror… stared into her own… were the _same_ , as her own…

"Oh whistling, why are you feeling so shy?

Wind comes 'round at dusk and blows 'till night is nigh…"

Wednesday inadvertently sang as she adjusted the white cuffs of her short, black, long-sleeved dress.

"The wolves are hiding,

As drops of snow fall,

But I am so old,

I have lived through it all."

She pulled at the ends of her raven braids, making sure that they were in tight.

"Child, don't cry,

I'll be there soon…"

Wednesday took but a moment to take a look in her mirror.

The young girl could focus on nothing but her eyes.

She wondered if seeing pictures of her mother as a child would ease her recently quite troubled mind.

" _I'll never leave you_ for I am the moon

Likely… it wouldn't.

….

The open window let in air (yet not a single tear) from the again, grey outside.

A bowtie- _the_ bow tie -black with grey pinstripes- was sophisticatedly tied (by now, he had gotten the hang of it) round the neck of young Pugsley Addams.

He excitedly readied himself for yet another date -again, at the gazebo- with his infatuation- with his _love_ , Scarlett Blood.

Scarlett Blood was his girlfriend… god, what a night they had both had!

It seemed only yesterday he had proposed the idea- oh yes.

He had, hadn't he?

The second poem he had skipped lunch to write for her (he was getting much better at it; and much more efficient), lied flat on his dresser.

As he fastened the buttons on his sharp tuxedo coat… all he could keep his mind on was Scarlett.

She was so beautiful. Pale and mysterious. At Cousin Cordelia's funeral, he hadn't even looked at the corpse (Ironic that this was not what led to the mishap?).

All he wanted to do was skip across the stones with her once more, hold her in his arms again… press her close against him and never let her go.

He wished to kiss her… he so wished to kiss her; and allow her to lean into him for anything she needed or desired… he was her helpless slave.

And he was Pugsley. He was Pugsley, with a purpose, and a girlfriend and an… an identity, of… of his own.

His hands carefully adjusted his father's- _his_ tie.

He paused, studying his reflection… and smiled.

….

The fire burned.

Orange and red, burning flames danced their erotic tango… contained in their black, boxed place before the darkened walls of the dungeon.

Walls, lined with devices of masochism… a black floor (porcelain, mainly…). Silver and/or spiked chains… a high, midnight-coloured ceiling. A bondage wheel pressed against the back wall (to name one of the larger structures- _toys_ ).

The room was massive (one of the largest in the mansion), and always locked. One could only enter with a particular key.

The lovers were the only two in possession of that key.

 _That key…_

Hands restrained behind him by maximum security handcuffs, Gomez Addams had been attempting to guess where _that key_ (the key to his metal binds) was hidden, for the past few minutes now.

Wearing only black bottoms and his wedding ring, he knelt before the fire… before the bewitching gothic temptress that was his encantadora.

A lash for every time he answered wrong.

The key to his wrists' release was located somewhere on his wife. An article of her clothing (of what limited clothing she was clad in)… under an article of her clothing?

She stood before him, black whip in hand.

Lustrous, gothic, black, stiletto boots made their way up to her knees. Lingerie; tight, lowcut, the colour of her boots, equipped with a pushup bra… and exposing most of her midsection. Parts of it leather, all of it entrancing.

Her hair was parted over her shoulders. Her silver wedding ring was the only thing of colour other than her red wine lips.

Gomez hissed as the whip marked his skin once again.

"It isn't between my breasts." Morticia's eyes met his, and if eyes could smirk… hers did. Her tone was sultry as she spoke. "But I'm sure you wish it was."

Gomez never broke eye contact with her in his response. "And if I do?"

Morticia's heels made little noise against the porcelain floor as she paced, thrice. "Wishing won't change its true location."

"Which is?" Gomez raised his eyebrow.

Morticia scoffed. "I don't get off that easy."

Gomez grinned. "When I bite you, you do… mistress."

Morticia played with the whip in her hands, as if it were less a device of sadism and more the soft, coiled tail of a cat. _"Charming."_ She looked him up and down. "Guess again." She commanded.

"Yes, mistress." Gomez studied her intimidating, enchanting form; not that he hadn't already memorized it. By now, he knew his Tish, -inside and out- better than the back of his own hand. "Well, I've already guessed incorrectly five times." He stated, eyeing her lower half. "Perhaps it's between your-"

Morticia whipped him once again, leaving streaks across his chest. "No." She answered. "Not there."

Gomez's throat -and pants- tightened.

Morticia knew it as well as he did; the true torture for him was not the pain (for he enjoyed receiving it… watching those eyes of hers flash passionate dominance as she allowed the device to strike him). Rather, the true torture for him was being restrained, and unable to act on his impulses to take her immediately.

"I would never have known if I didn't guess." Gomez defended, then meeting her eyes. "It isn't as though you've never hidden it there."

Morticia arched an eyebrow, a sign for Gomez to explain his claim.

"Two weeks ago." Gomez clarified, shaking his head. "You couldn't hide that key from me for long, mistress."

"Couldn't I?" Morticia turned on her heels to face him, fully. "After all, it took you an agonizing thirteen lashes before you guessed correctly."

"Three of which were out of pure sadism." Gomez said.

Morticia maintained her composure; although it was becoming difficult as her husband's words were evoking recent memories. "After what you did once I released your hands, I wouldn't exactly call it pure." She remarked. "But since you mentioned it," She whipped him again. "That one was out of sadism."

Gomez groaned, jolting forward a bit.

He held his tongue… resisting the urge to call her _mi sadica_. Instead, he asked: "May I guess a sixth time, mistress?"

Morticia nodded. "Oui." She answered, increasing her level of torture (knowing that her French made his blood boil… and there wasn't a damn thing he could do right now to act on it).

Gomez bit his lip, but could not suppress a whimper (he needed her, desperately). "Mistress, are you _trying_ to kill me?" He asked, erection growing.

Morticia's eyes flashed a smile. She laughed, soft and short. "Kill you? Of course not, darling. Then I couldn't do this."

Another lash.

"God _I adore you."_ Gomez couldn't help it. Even now, he… he loved her always, and he always loved her like this. He eyed her top half once again, more specifically her breasts- _bra._ Oh, who was he kidding? He was eyeing her breasts. "Is it in your bra?" He asked.

" _Erroné_ Morticia took great satisfaction in allowing her whip to collide with his skin once again... and watching him bite his lip in torture when she spoke those French words again.

Gomez never had to plead for mercy in this game yet… but he had a feeling he was going to have to if he didn't find-

He observed as she walked closer to him, her heels creating intimidating taps as she did.

He then noticed something… gleaming, out of the top of her right stiletto, near her knee.

What light could the object (Was there an object at all?) have been catching? There was hardly any light in the room; let alone angled to be hitting it in such a way as presented to his mesmerized eyes (although he was more mesmerized by his wife than any mere gleaming object).

Either way, (whether or not there was enough light, or it was angled correctly…) there was indeed something, slightly poking out of her boot.

Gomez smirked inwardly, believing he had quite literally found the key to his hands' freedom… but not wishing to divulge just yet.

"That's seven guesses, mon cher." Morticia said, her long legs still making strides towards him. "I suppose you could beg me to release you." She paused, and cocked her head… still her face was half-stoic and half-saucily wicked. "Of course, I'm not known for my merciful ways." She looked down at him, then. "That…" she began. "and you don't have use of your hands."

"You may not be known for mercy, but I'm known for being quite resourceful." Gomez smirked. "After all, this isn't the first time you've had me in bondage." He met her eyes. "I don't need them, Tish."

" _Pardon?"_ Morticia cracked the whip in less than a second, leaving a streak across his back.

Gomez hissed, his smirk almost having vanished… almost. _"Mistress."_ He corrected himself.

"That's what I thought." Morticia had now gone back to playing with the whip in her hands, nodding. Then she paused, meeting his eyes. "Now, back to begging."

Gomez straightened his back, staring intensely, sensually into her dark orbs of mystery. "While I do not have use of my hands, I could plead for you mercy in… other ways."

Morticia appeared interested in his idea, as she discontinued toying with the whip and continued toying with him. "How?"

Gomez was grinning now. "I have my ideas, mistress."

Morticia narrowed her eyes. "As do I."

After she spoke those words, she began to walk towards him again. She stopped, her boot slamming down on the floor as she stood directly before him.

And even this severe, dangerous, enticing… dominating movement, contained elegance.

Gomez looked up at her and groaned, enraptured by her.

His lips and tongue met the tip of her lustrous, gothic boot. Then sensually, they traveled upward… slowly; eliciting a moan from Morticia, whom was struggling to keep her composure.

Gomez -bound, bent and filled with desperate passion- continued to leave a trail of ecstasy up her leg. As he did, he likely made his way toward the key.

When he reached her knee, his mouth enclosed around the shining piece of metal which his eyes had landed upon previously.

He sat up once more and -using his teeth- maneuvered it out of his mouth, then holding out the key.

"Thank you for this, mistress." He winked.

Morticia's eyes were now open (she, having come off of the passion-high her husband had put her on), narrowed as they were, at him. "You cheated."

Her voice sounded almost disheartened as she had wanted his torture to be drawn out. Her tone was comparable to that of a young child who had just been told their favourite game had been cut short. Then again, in a way (although she was no child), hers had.

"Oh, no, I didn't." Gomez chuckled, wearing a slightly sympathetic expression. "It was said that I _could_ beg in other ways." He explained. "It was never said that I was."

Morticia still appeared rather dejected. "Why must you always seduce me out of dominance?"

Gomez shook his head. "You know as well as I do, _mistress_ ; that your dominance willingly reigns over me, regardless of the position of my hands…" He added, then, "or the whip in yours."

"For a man with a key in his mouth, you're incredibly charming." Morticia sighed and slid the key out of his mouth, and into the lock, releasing his hands.

"I try." He replied.

Gomez, as soon as his hands were released grabbed her boots to hold her still. _"Cara mia…"_ He kissed any part of her he could and stood, pulling her close to him.

In the heat of their passion, Morticia dropped her whip and grabbed onto him, digging her nails into the back of his neck and willing her tongue to dance with his own. She pressed, hard against his form; and still it was not close enough. She craved to be closer… amongst other things.

Gomez reciprocated with equal force, and equal amounts of passionate desire. He made out with her as hard as she made him, his hands in her hair and his eyes, locked with hers.

" _Mon amour…"_ Morticia breathed between fervent kisses. "Gomez… _mon extase, I need you_." She was clawing at him, desperate for his taste and his touch.

Gomez bit her lip, and groaned. " _Mi corazón_ … the bed?" He asked.

Morticia smirked, swinging her leg behind his. "Only if you carry me."

" _Oh, Tish…"_ Gomez kissed her once more and lifted her over his shoulder. "always." He promised, and squeezed her ass.

" _Mmm…_ je t'adore, mon cher." Morticia moaned.

Gomez's knees weakened at her words, however he remained standing and carried her over to the sectioned off part of their dungeon.

It was in the far corner of the grand room, concealed from the rest of it by a silk, blood red curtain.

It was almost an entirely separate room (apart from the fact that the walls and floor were the same as the rest of the room).

There was a large jacuzzi-tub with water, having been specially dyed to look like blood, to the far right of the room. A black waterfall ran into it.

The rest of the room kept the dark essence of their dungeon, but was noticeably made for a different kind of pleasure (incense-scented candles, a black bear-skin rug…).

In the center of the room was a black, luxury round bed with silk and satin sheets, darker than the night, itself.

Gomez carried her to the bed and laid her down atop the sheets.

Eyes burning with desire for his encantadora, he climbed on top of her, then beginning to devour her whole.

His lips locked with hers. He worshipped her, his hands adoring every mesmerizingly memorized curve of her body. The hands that adored her tore off the expensive lingerie she wore, an animalistic lust for her taking over his entire being.

Morticia tugged at his pants (the only article of clothing he wore). She had no desire for them… only for him.

Gomez grinned and kissed her, biting her lip. _"Eres divina…"_ He groaned.

" _Tu es divin, mon amour."_ Morticia breathed, pressing against him.

Gomez discarded his bottoms almost immediately upon her request (almost… had he not gotten sidetracked by the rose petals that were her lips), and went after her neck.

He sucked it, sensually and slowly at first and continuing to allow his hands to caress every part he could access at the moment. But he knew what she desired, and that was blood. A trickle of blood, running down her porcelain neck, perhaps a thin stream having been created between her breasts… the flow of the red river only terminated by way of his willing tongue.

Morticia closed her eyes, internally pleading for more… waiting… preying he would-

He bit down on her neck, just the way she liked it.

Morticia let out an ecstatic gasp. _"Mon diable."_

Gomez licked up the blood that trickled out of her bite, and continued his passionate exploration of her body. His lips and hands made their erotic descent downward and met her centre. He touched her, bringing her to a state of dark bliss in only a way he could… mouth, hands; his heart began to beat faster as he felt her tighten in pleasure.

" _Gomez…"_ The moaning of her husband's name soon turned into a cry as he brought her to orgasm.

Gomez crawled on top of her, straddling her hips and his hands in her hair.

"Te amo, mi hermosa diosa." He kissed her.

Morticia dug her nails into his chest, looking into his eyes with a hungry fire burning for her amour in her own. _"Prends-moi."_

…..

"This blood on my teeth, it is far beyond dry,

And I've captured you once, but it wasn't quite right,

So I'm telling you… that you'll be safe with me…"

Scarlett stood in her mother's guest bedroom mirror; singing, absently, a song she had learned at five… from her mother.

She had been readying herself for her date with Pugsley for what had to be twenty minutes now.

Readying herself. She was always readying herself. Not for Pugsley, for he would love her regardless of whether or not she strapped on a tight dress and three-inch heels. But for… for…

 _The ends justify the means._

Her mother had always taught her so.

From a young age, it was burned in the young vampire's brain… that the ends justify the means. From a young age, she was taught (through what means, it mattered not) that a small amount of bloodshed, and giving… giving up… doing whatever it took to- whatever it _takes_ , to…

"And my teeth may be sharp, and I've been raised to kill,

But the thought of fresh meat, it is making me ill,

So I'm telling you, that you'll be safe with me…"

From a young age, she had been readying herself. She had been readying herself; raised to kill, regardless of whether or not the thought of fresh meat made her ill. Did it? If it did, that meant…

Scarlett shook her head and finished brushing her hair.

"So, rabbit, please stop looking the other way,

It's cold out there so why not stay here

Under my tail-"

" _What are you still doing in here?"_ Regina's irritated voice cut her daughter off as she shut the door behind her.

"I'm getting ready for my date." Scarlett replied, calmly and smoothed down her dress.

Regina cast a piercing glance at the clock on the wall, then turned back to her daughter. "Scarlett, it's four o'clock."

"It is?" Scarlett questioned.

It was as if she was procrastinating, while at the same time waiting for something only she could bring about. And whatever it was… it was either conflicting her, or forcing her to feel nothing at all.

"It is." Regina affirmed, elegantly crossing her arms. She looked into her daughter's eyes through the mirror.

Scarlett froze, instantly upon her mother's gaze.

"I wouldn't put you on the frontlines if you couldn't take the bullets." Regina said.

Scarlett did not break her mother's gaze (there were consequences for such a defiant action). She simply swallowed, inaudibly hard and replied, "Yes, mother. I understand."

"You should, by now." Regina nodded, gesturing for her daughter to finish up.

She did.

She did, and she gave an affirmative nod before she walked to the door of her mother's guest bedroom.

"Remember, darling," Regina looked into her eyes one last time before her daughter's date. _"The ends justify the means."_

Scarlett felt she had nodded more in the last five minutes than she had in her entire twelve years of life.

Yet, to please her mother, she nodded once more. "The ends justify the means." She repeated.

After those last words were exchanged with her mother, Scarlett opened the dark wooden door of the bedroom and walked out of it… going out to the gazebo to meet Pugsley, for their date.

….

The torches burned, red staining their blazes as they swished about.

Black skies with no tears pouring from them, hovered, thousands of feet over the gazebo… over the two, secluded lovers contained therein.

Scarlett dressed her absolute best for Pugsley tonight.

She wore a silk, short, strapless dress. It was blood red with black, Victorian designs covering it and laced up in the back with ivory laces.

Her hair had been curled, and she wore black high heels with crimson soles.

A couple nails were painted ivory with black gothic patterns, a couple vis versa… the rest were painted blood- _red_ , with either white or black patterns.

She had tried her best to look perfect. She had readied herself.

Now, she stared into the eyes of her boyfriend.

And these feelings she had for him, were those that she could not repress… should not repress, for now- _stop._

 _Stop. Stare. Wait._

Scarlett stood before Pugsley now, and he looked as adorable and as handsome as ever (with a black suit-jacket, and a white undershirt, black dress shoes and _that tie_ …).

"I missed you today." Pugsley told her, fidgeting due to the piece of parchment in his pocket. "I have a surprise for you, for later." He winked.

"So do I." Scarlett looked away briefly. She turned back to him, speaking again to explain her statement. "I have one, for you."

Pugsley smiled. "Thanks. I can't wait."

Scarlett felt a pang in her heart- it was nothing.

 _I wouldn't put you on the frontlines if you couldn't take the bullets._

She smiled at him, her eyes sparkling when she looked into his. "I couldn't wait to see you." She said.

"You either." Pugsley smiled back, taking her hands. He looked out at the atmosphere around them and took notice of the absence of the skies' tears. He turned back to Scarlett. "There isn't any rain. But, could I have this dance anyway?" He asked, hopefully.

 _And my teeth may be sharp, and I've been raised to kill…_

Scarlett responded, not. She appeared as though she were in a trance.

Pugsley pulled her a bit closer to him, and stared deeper into her eyes. "Scarlett?"

 _But the thought of fresh meat, it is making me ill…_

"Scarlett?"

 _So I'm telling you, that you'll be safe with me-_

" _Scarlett?"_ Pugsley shook her a bit, growing concerned.

"Yes?" Scarlett snapped out of her trance, her red eyes, staring back into Pugsley's brown ones. "Yes, of course, Pugsley."

 _The ends justify the means._

"Let's dance."

….

Crimson, stiletto nails or snow white fingertips ran over the lash marks her husband's chest (although many of them ended up on his back) while her diable massaged her neck and held her, tightly.

Having just made love (for the second time that day), the amorous pair now lied, snuggling close in bed together (back in their bedroom, after a long evening of being absent from it).

"Mmm… we missed lunch." Morticia remarked.

Gomez sighed. "We may have missed lunch, querida; but I don't believe lunch missed us."

Morticia gave a soft chuckle. "You mean, you don't think Máma missed witnessing our great talent for feeding each other bloodberries whilst playing musical chairs?"

Gomez laughed and kissed her cheek. "I would say we should ask her, but I feel we've scarred her enough." He shook his head. "She's seen more living with us than she has in her entire sixty years of life."

Morticia looked up at her husband. "It isn't our fault that my mother never learned how to knock."

"True." Gomez cocked his head, in agreement. Then added, "Yet, she seems to think it is."

"And all you could find to wear to meet me at the door was that… short, black lingerie dress with the spikes on the breasts- " Morticia imitated her mother.

" _Alright, Máma."_ Gomez shook his head, raising an eyebrow. "Have you ever thought of making a hobby out of doing impressions?" He asked.

Morticia sighed. "No. They'd ask me to go on tour and I could never do that." She smiled at him. "I'd kill myself, being without you that much."

Gomez planted a kiss on her lips. "And I couldn't live without you, mi hermosa diosa."

Morticia cuddled closer to him, and he rubbed out a tight muscle in her neck.

" _Ah…"_ Morticia sighed, in bleak bliss. _"Je t'adore."_ She purred.

Gomez's mouth was near her ear when he spoke to her, "Te adoro, amor de mi eternidad."

Before more passionate words could be exchanged, a bloody murderous scream was heard… seemingly coming from outside.

Barely fazed at all, Morticia rolled her dark eyes. "Gomez?"

"Yes, my dearest?" Gomez asked.

"The paperboy didn't come today." Morticia explained. "The children must have set a trap for him."

"Hah!" Gomez grinned, proudly. "The little devils. Do you remember the time they kidnapped the last paperboy?"

Morticia smiled in reminiscence. "Yes. They didn't let him out of the attic for three whole days, having used white torture on him. We were so proud."

The scream was heard yet again, louder this time.

Morticia sighed. "I had better go let him out before we have the police here again."

"That was the first time we've had the police here since Pugsley accidentally shot Cousin Krimp." Gomez recollected. He paused, then and his eyes enlarged, pleading with her not to leave. "Is there anything I can do to persuade you to stay, hmm?"

" _Gomez…"_ Morticia couldn't refuse his eyes but she had to rescue that paperboy. Although he wasn't going anywhere…

Gomez's lip pouted and his hands roamed lower, squeezing between Morticia's neck and shoulders, and pulling her close to him.

"I will do this as long as you'd like me to, querida."

He was good. He was _very_ good.

Morticia groaned, closing her eyes. "I know…" She let out a paradisal sigh. "I have to let that paperboy out of his trap."

"He isn't going anywhere." Gomez contradicted, and continued to massage her. "This will be good for him." He insisted, in a charming tone of voice. "It'll build character… resilience. He will survive anything, if he can survive a night in one of their traps. It may give him a bit of PTSD, but nothing he won't be able to handle." His hands worked her neck and shoulders, in just the spots to make her stay.

" _Mon beau diable…"_ Morticia turned kissed him, despite desperately not wishing to move from her position. "As good of an argument as you build, I have to go." She paused. "I'll be back for more of this in an hour."

"An hour?" Gomez pouted, raising his eyebrows.

Morticia got out of bed, putting on her nightgown, black heels and black, velvet, hooded cloak.

She looked back at her amour, a smirk, clearly visible on her enchanting features. _"Or less."_

"I'll go with you." Gomez nearly leapt out of bed.Morticia held up a hand. "I'll go alone. You aren't even dressed yet." She sat at the edge of the bed. "Besides, what fun would torturing you with my short absence be if you're there?"

Gomez sighed and took her hand, bringing it to his lips for a passionate kiss. "You are a sadist, but you're _my_ sadist."

Morticia shivered, adoring to hear those words… and to feel his lips against her pale, ice-cold skin. The way he kissed her was passion, in itself… not to mention, everything else.

"Je t'aime, mon amour." Morticia leaned over and kissed him.

Gomez pulled her closer, pulling her deeper into the kiss.

Morticia moaned. " _Mmm…_ mon cher, I…" Between breaths, she spoke. "I have to… I… suppose I, could… stay for a while."

Gomez grinned and began to unfasten her cloak.

"I… _you are making this very difficult._ " Morticia broke the kiss, and looked into his eyes.

"That's the idea." Gomez admitted, and pulled her in for another kiss.

Morticia closed her eyes, desiring to stay but knowing she couldn't. With great difficulty, she sat up and refastened her cloak. "I'm leaving." She declared, locking lips with her husband one last time before getting off of the bed and heading to the door. Once her hand was on the knob of the door, she turned back to him, meeting his eyes.

" _Te amo, mi encantadora._ I'll be counting the minutes." Gomez never broke their intensely passionate gaze as he took a cigar from the holder on the nightstand, to smoke.

" _Je t'aime, mon extase."_ She replied.

Then, she exited the bedroom to seek out -and ultimately release- the likely apprehended paperboy.

….

The front door of the Addams mansion opened with an uneasy creak; however, the action was invisible ( _merely_ audible) under the thick cover of the black, cacaesthesiac sheet that was the night.

The wind whispered to the mother of darkness, guiding her in the dark to her reason for standing in it this night.

Was it the wind?

" _This blood on my teeth, it is far beyond dry,_

 _And I've captured you once, but it wasn't quite right…"_

The voice of whomever sung the song (unfamiliar to the ears of Mrs. Addams) sounded meek, and utterly terrified. It sang with hesitance, in such a range that was obviously masculine… but young, and afraid. Very afraid.

The hood of her cloak having been up since her departure into the cool night air -the cool, uneasy, cacaesthesiac night air- Mrs. Addams took light, graceful steps toward the frightened voice.

She practically floated down the longstanding steps of the doorway, her eyes peering for any sign of life to match the voice.

" _S- so I'm… telling you… that you'll be safe with me…"_

Morticia walked toward an small section of trees, toward the side of the mansion… closer to the voice, growing more anxiety-ridden by the phrase.

" _And my teeth may be sh- sharp… and I've been raised t- to kill,_

 _But the thought of fresh meat, it is making me ill,_

 _So I'm telling you… that you'll be safe with me…"_

In the trees. The voice -or rather the person with it- was in the trees.

Morticia shook her head; her children always had been creative.

" _So, rabbit, please st- stop looking the o- other way…"_

At those words, Mrs. Addams looked up and into the trees (as black as the clouds were, now).

Hanging from a net, in the tree directly above her… was a young boy, no more than seventeen (by the looks of him). The net was held up there in the tall tree, by a series of complicated, knotted ropes that had been locked together.

Noticing her, not, the young boy continued to retreat further into himself and sing.

" _It's c-cold… out there so- so why not stay here…_

 _Under my tail-"_

Morticia held up a politely interjecting hand (as though he could see it). _"Pardon me?"_

" _Ahh!"_ The petrified paperboy screamed.

Morticia was not at all startled by his scream but rather confused (Had her children done that much damage in so little time?).

She looked up at him, standing before -and under- the net that entrapped the boy. "You must be the paperboy." She said.

The young boy nodded in confirmation. "Y-yes, ma'am. I guess I must be."

Morticia flashed a mysterious smile. "I am Mrs. Addams." She introduced herself with poised kindness.

The paperboy looked down at her, shaking. Instantly, -as was everyone whom looked upon the gothic beauty- he was entranced.

She was hypnotizingly beautiful. Enchanting.

Her black nightgown (which appeared to be a gothic dress, to the eyes of the young boy) was cut in a deep V-neck with long sleeves. It was tight, and extended down past her ankles with intricate, gothic designs covering it.

The cloak she wore was elegant, and gothic (also black). It was velvet, with a witch-like hood and had small pentagram images (their colours, matching that of the cloak), lining the bottom.

She wore her usual makeup; dark smoky eyes and blood red lips. Her nails were long, and painted crimson.

Under the dress, black high heels covered her feet.

"What's your name?" Morticia inquired.

The paperboy gulped. "My name?" He made the question seem bizarre and unbelievable, as though it could have had many different and complex answers. The young boy hesitated. "My name is… Robert."

Morticia internally shrugged off Robert's odd way of going about an introduction, and chalked it up to fright.

She met his eyes. "I believe my children set this trap for you, Robert. You see, they're rather creative little devils. But they merely intended malice." She explained, coolly. "However, I do understand that you can't hang there all night." _Or all week._ She thought, knowing her children. "You have a paper route."

Robert laughed, nervously. "Yea."

Morticia looked back at the lock on the ropes (the key to it, nowhere to be found), holding the paperboy in the trees.

She turned back to him, then. "Robert? Did you see where they hid the key?"

If they truly were her children, the key had been hidden. It would be a cold day in hell before they left a chance for the young boy's escape.

Robert shook his head. "I didn't see much. All I saw was the front- front of your house until I was… pulled up into these trees." He said. "Honest."

Morticia nodded. "Of course, they would never let you see them hide it." She sighed, beginning to look around the area for the key. Figuring she shouldn't allow her time searching to be spent in awkward silence, she spoke. "How old are you, Robert?" She asked, as she searched behind a tree.

"Seventeen, Mrs. Addams." Robert replied.

" _Seventeen…"_ Morticia moved to another tree, finding nothing behind the one she had previously searched. "I have a son; Pugsley. He's ten." She smiled, thinking of her little boy. "We couldn't be more proud of him." She said, picking up a rock and examining the ground under it, for any sign of the key. "He's fallen in love with a mystery girl."

"Really?" Robert asked.

"Yes. He bought her a ring. He told me all about it. He said it was black with a ruby…" Morticia inspected the branches of the nearest tree as she tried to recollect her son's words about the ring he had purchased. _"bat."_ She recalled. "Yes, it had a ruby bat atop it. He was so excited about it. He's been wearing the tie his father gave to him every day." She laughed, softly. "Máma says he missed lunch today. He's been asking his father advice about love poems. Certainly, he would know." Finding nothing on the branches, she sighed and walked toward the gate. "Gomez and I connected the dots… we think he wrote her a poem... or several. We still have no idea who _she_ is."

Mrs. Addams was beginning to run out of places. She was also beginning to wish Gomez was with her.

God, she was only away from him for a half hour and already, it felt like a half a year. She missed him terribly, and when she wasn't around him, she felt like she was detached from a half of herself.

She needed to feel his hands on her; his arms, wrapped around her from behind and his lips against her skin. The way he would whisper in her ear and make time seize to exist.

He was the only one who could do that for her… _to_ her.

Out of options and missing her amour, she was beginning to think of telling the paperboy to do a body-search. She wasn't sure how he could possibly not have noticed a key on his person, but-

 _Jingling._

There was a clear jingling coming from inside the net.

Morticia rushed back over to the net (hood somehow, still perfectly intact). She looked up at the paperboy. "Robert?"

Robert jumped; again, startled.

And again, a jingling.

"Yea?"

"Look for the key inside of the net." Morticia instructed.

Robert nodded, and did as bade.

Morticia heard the jingling again, louder this time.

"Here!" Robert pulled what had made the jingling noise, out of his boot. "Came from my boot."

"Your boot?" Morticia indeed found this quite suspicious.

How could he not have noticed it had been put there; unless of course, he had been unconscious during their placement. That, and her children typically hid things so well, the police were unable to find them, let alone a seventeen-year-old paperboy coincidentally finding something they had hidden in his boot.

Still, said nothing on the matter. "Throw the key down to me." She instructed the boy.

He did so… with his mouth.

Finding this odd but again, keeping quiet about it, she reached out for the key. "Now, Robert; let's get you out of there." Morticia then caught the… set of keys.

The set of multiple keys. Several different ways to unlock the knotted ropes, and release the paperboy.

She sighed, looking back up at Robert. "Oh, dear."

….

Dressed for the day in black pants, a black undershirt, a blood red suit-vest with swirled, gothic designs covering it and black dress shoes, Gomez Addams had been anxiously awaiting his black angel's return into their bedroom… into his adoring arms, for what felt like an eternity.

He had been sitting on the couch in their closet, smoking one of his signature, expensive cigars… and staring at her array of dresses.

He shook his head, and laughed a bit to himself. He really was a mess without her.

Despite missing her, he could not help but let his mind wander, now that he was alone. His thoughts directed themselves back to Regina (he, having not thought of her since this morning, in the train room).

Her presence was disrupting the only thing that kept him sane.

 _That beast has to leave_.

He was willing to venture near that puddle of ruby liquid on the floor, created by the blasted, bloody picture… the blood that picture had been painted with, that was dripping, slowly from its edges.

He was willing to venture near that puddle- no. Venture deep into it… deep enough to force her out, _now._

She was disruptive, she was ludicrous, she was… driving him mad. Mad with rage, and mad with repressed demons he wished never to resurface.

He had never wished to revisit his history with Regina. That history was brutal, and shaken… filled with regret.

But he learned a lesson about history (a bigger lesson than any his professors in school could ever teach him) that night he and Regina had painted the big picture.

History was irreversible. History could not be erased. History was painted in blood.

But his present and his future… he had worked the hot, crimson liquid straight out of his veins for that. And he would be damned if he allowed history rip it away from him.

Or more importantly, if he allowed history to lay a blood-soaked page on his black angel.

She was his everything, and he would not lose her… not to anyone or anything.

Not to that damned, black bat from hell.

Gomez put out the cigar in his pocket, and rose from the velvet chair.

With a sense of fire, purpose, he walked out of the closet… out of the bedroom.

He walked down the long, darkened mansion halls, and flights of stairs until he reached the third floor.

He found the ebony, wooden door of Regina's guest bedroom.

It creaked, ear-piercingly as he pushed it open.

He entered the room, shutting the door behind him.

Before he could say a word, he looked up to see a sight… that shocked him.

Regina sat, cross-legged in the scarlet, luxury armchair that faced the door (It was placed near the window, as it always had been; now Gomez understood why. Did he?).

She was clothed in a gothic, black, tight dress that had a dramatic crease in it and swept the floor. Blood red rubies were embroidered in it. It was lowcut in a deep sweetheart neckline, and the top was lined in a blood red and black-tipped, regal-looking high collar.

She wore black, high heels and a couple of silver, black and/or ruby, gothic rings, including a silver, dragon claw ring. She had on a dangling, black diamond earring on her right ear, and a black and dark red dragon-wrap earring, in and around her left ear.

Her usual makeup decorated her face, and her hair was loosely curled.

Red, stained the glass as it swished about on the nightstand- made table beside her. Wine (of a crimson shade) stained the glass adjacent to it.

"Gomez? It took you long enough to open the door." Regina smirked. "I thought you were dead."

….

"He's worn a suit every day for the past four days now." Morticia told Robert as she unknotted the ropes (only having begun five minutes ago, as finding the correct key proved to be a troublesome feat, indeed). "I'm incredibly happy for him, but I do wish he would come to us a bit more, tell us who she is." She sighed, tugging (still, elegant as ever) at a particularly difficult knot. "Then again, he is only ten years old."

"Yea." Robert agreed. "Mrs. Addams, don't you think your son is a little young to be making it with the ladies?" He questioned.

It wasn't exactly his place, however he felt -from everything Mrs. Addams had been telling him- that the young boy was simply… too young for all that he took part in.

The only thing he had purchased at ten was baseball trading cards, never rings.

At that age, he had still been under the impression that girls had cooties.

"Young?" Morticia raised an eyebrow. "Well, I suppose everyone grows at their own pace. However, the oldest Addams to fall in love was…" She paused in thought, then briefly looked back up at the paperboy. "Eighteen, I believe."

Robert nodded, a bit confused but simply nodding his head in reply.

The soft-spoken Morticia was not one to monologue to a stranger, however she was growing increasingly lonely… and she saw no reason in denying herself the opportunity to alleviate a small part of that loneliness if she could.

"Your parents must be very proud of you." Morticia was nearly finished untying the knotted ropes.

"Thank you… thank you, Mrs. Addams." Robert responded.

"You're welcome, Robert." Morticia replied. "Our Pugsley… I only hope one day he and his sister will fully understand how much Gomez and I love them."

After those words had been said, the last knot had been untied… and the complicated trap fell from the trees, crashing to the ground.

Morticia came to the young boy's aid upon his descent back to earth, but was perplexed -to say the least- at the sight before her.

She eyed him, strangely.

He was a sickly shade of pale and looked completely drained. His hands were bound (explaining why he used his mouth to drop the keys).

Now, though, she was growing suspicious.

The paperboy looked up at her from where he half-lied, then… bitemarks on his neck, and fear in his eyes. "I'm sorry." He said.

Morticia's eyes enlarged, every dot connecting, sporadically in her brain.

The key… Robert -if that was even who he was- had found it in his boot. His boot… the dungeon, she and her amours dungeon; _how dare that bat-_

Bat. Bat. Bat.

Pugsley.

The girl. The mystery girl, who had been keeping her son up at night. The mystery girl, who Pugsley had missed lunch to write poems for.

 _Mother? Do you know of a store where I can find a black ring with a ruby bat on top of it? I'm buying it for a special girl._

A special girl. Damn it, she should have known! The poems, the ring…

The mystery girl her son had fallen in love for… her veins only ran with ice cold… Scarlett Blood.

"Pugsley." The name was barely an utterance under the worried mother's breath.

The paperboy gulped.

Hastily, Morticia looked back at the mansion. "Pugsley!"

She left the young boy there (he had betrayed her… betrayed her son). And she began to run, her long legs carrying her as fast and as far as they could.

" _Pugsley!"_ She called. _"Gomez! Pugsley!"_

She was headed to the cemetery, shouting for her little boy and praying he could still hear her.

….

Gomez stood nearer to Regina now, upset. "You have been here long enough, Regina! You may have history with me but you have no such history with my family!" He was spitting fire.

And Regina's shield from his rage was calmness, coolness and collection. She sipped her glass of blood. "Gomez, you seem tense." She then gestured to the untouched glass of red wine on the table. "Have a drink."

"I'd rather not." Gomez declined, then starting up again. "I _understand_ that I made a deal… that I signed on the dotted in _permanent red ink_ -"

"Not ink, dear." Regina took another sip of blood. "Hot, dark, crimson, liquid." She took a deep breath, growing suddenly very serious. "Do you remember that night?"

Gomez stiffened. "What night?"

Regina shook her head. "You know what night." Something in those red eyes… something, on the verge of vulnerability. "Our night."

"How could I forget?" Gomez's tone bared strain and regret… bared the bloody history of the big picture.

"You led me into that wonderful bedroom of yours… dark, and dangerous." She felt her stomach tighten in reminiscence. "I felt like I shouldn't have been there. And yet, when you looked at me… you made me feel like I belonged there, with you."

" _I never said that-"_

" _You didn't have to."_ Regina snapped at his interruption. "Your eyes were filled with fire. I might have been born dead, but you made me feel alive." She leaned back in her chair. "You touched me, and the world fell away. It was only us. It was you, and I… and your hands…" She shivered. "Biting you almost couldn't compare to the way you touched me that night. Your body against mine was… your voice, in my ear…" She sat straight up again. "And you said you liked me… really liked me." Then, she looked him in the eyes. "All I ever wanted was for you to say you loved me."

Gomez took a deep breath in. "I am many things." He said. "But a liar _was not, is not… and will never be_ , one of them."

" _No?"_ Regina raised a contradicting eyebrow. "What is a liar? I always thought it was someone who lies. And you," She briefly lifted a finger from the glass to point at him. "Gomez… you lied to save yourself."

" _What?"_ Gomez questioned.

Regina scoffed, red staining the glass as it swished about, nearly to the rim. "Don't pretend like the corpse wasn't there after you awakened." She took a sip of ruby liquid. "Some never did."

Gomez grimaced in disgust. "How could you do that to _your own sister_?"

"How could you do that to _me_?" Regina stiffened. "Mere _days_ after you told me you liked me…"

"I did, then." Gomez told her, honestly.

" _You liked me in bed."_ Regina spat, obviously hurt and angered. "You seemed to take a liking to her, too."

Gomez wore a remorseful expression. "I didn't know she was your sister-"

" _Regardless,"_ Regina cut him off, continuing. "You lied." She stated. "You could have told the police the truth."

"What, that a vampire broke in and killed her, staging it as a human homicide?" Gomez inquired, his accent thickening in sarcasm and upset. He shook his head. "I had no choice."

"There's always a choice." Regina responded. "It may be difficult to choose; years in prison or in an insane asylum on account of honesty… signing your night away or death… murder or forgiveness…" She shook her head, unintentionally turning this on herself. "It may be difficult to choose, but there is always a choice." She said. "So don't tell me you're not a liar, or that you've never been."

"You're right, there is always a choice." Gomez agreed, finally. "But you and I both know that you choose what is most promising. And that shouldn't make you a liar."

Regina leveled her eyes. "It shouldn't." She concurred. "But, it does." She pursed her lips. "Did you always seek out women, dancing alone in the middle of an abandoned gothic ballroom, late at night?" She asked. "Or did you prefer women like me? Haunting a cemetery past visiting hours… putting out cigarettes on the carcasses of that squirrel I had just killed?"

Gomez said nothing, but something changed in his demeanour.

"You didn't know about that, did you?" Regina took a sip of her blood. Her face contorted somewhat in disgust. "I wouldn't be surprised if that _Tish_ of yours was just another _whore_ from-"

" _Don't you dare_ , speak that way about Morticia; _you black bat from hell_!" He was in her face now, enraged. "You will always be one, regardless of whether or not you can fly. But if you say _anything_ like that about my wife again, _you are going to wish that you could_." He threatened. "You do not know a damn thing about that woman, or about me. She is the most beautiful, _worthy-of-respect_ , intelligent and caring creature there has ever been. _Don't you dare,_ try to suggest otherwise!" Beads of perspiration dripped from his temple, but it went unnoticed by Mr. Addams. All he cared about right now was defending the disrespected honour of his wife.

Regina said nothing on the subject, but nodded, and took a sip of blood without breaking eye contact.

Gomez backed away, but only grew more infuriated. He had now been brought to his boiling point. "I do not know what you want or _why_ you are here! _I've had enough!_ _I am done with it,_ I am _done_ with our deal and-" He took a deep breath before continuing. "You have cost me time with the woman _I adore_ , you have caused me to hurt her; and that, Regina is an _unforgiveable_ line to have crossed." He exploded, then. " _What, do you want my soul?_ You are not going to get it, goddamit! You will not have me, you will not have _my Tish_ , _you will not have any part of my family_!"

Regina's red irises locked with Gomez's.

 _It was not the old man who vexed me. But his Evil Eye…_

Regina finished off the thick, crimson liquid in the glass, then gently setting it on the table next to her.

She looked back at Gomez, and smiled… that- _her_ , smile. "Gomez, I… admit that I do still have an attraction for you." She told him. "Feelings, actually. They won't ever leave but you will. _You did._ " She continued to speak. "But, that isn't the reason why I'm here." She admitted to him.

" _Why are you here?_ " Gomez demanded to know.

"I'm here for…" She hesitated in her next sentence, almost… coming up with her words, on the fly. But not quite. "a reason that may seem trivial to you but is very significant to me." She stood from the chair, now. "A dead man's treasure."

Gomez shook his head. "I won't give you a damn thing."

" _Gomez- "_

Gomez cut her off, willing to make one last deal. _"Not unless you release me from our contract-"_

" _Gomez!"_ Regina silenced him. "Gomez, I wish to do just that." She elucidated, walking closer to him, and putting an elegant hand on his chest. "Strike one last deal with me, dear." She stared into his eyes.

" _I will not sign another blood pact."_ Gomez swore.

"Of course not." Regina agreed. "Sign a contract, a regular contract… on the dotted, in blood. It will release you of your previous blood pact, I can assure you. You have my word." She smirked. "And if that isn't convincing enough, you can read the fine print, yourself. All I want in return… is the dead man's treasure."

Gomez nodded. "And what makes you think I have it?"

"I have no reason to believe you don't. With all of your family history, your bound to have what I'm looking for." Regina replied.

No sooner than Regina's words were uttered did Gomez race to the vault, and come back with her request: a dead man's treasure. A ruby, stained with the blood of Captain Vincent Addams (from his days of piracy on the Black Sea).

The contract (as if- _by_ magic) appeared in Regina's hands, as well as a quill pen and a small dagger.

Gomez took the dagger, making a small cut on his arm, and dipping the pen into the wound.

Reading the contract, every word clearly stated to him that he would be released of the blood pact… and for his family, for his black angel… he signed it.

"Why do you want this?" Gomez asked about the ruby as he finished signing the contract.

"I don't." Regina replied, the quill pen and dagger disappearing.

The words on the contract Gomez had just signed changed before his eyes, but he had not the chance to read them. The contract, too, disappeared into thick air.

"And you?" Regina laughed. "I didn't want you anyway, not really." She paused. "I was just having a bit of fun with you."

" _What?"_ Gomez was pissed; and now, extremely concerned as to what he had just done.

"You've been useless to me since you became _Ms. Dominatrix's_ _love slave_." Regina told him. "But your blood… your blood is still very important." Again, she paused, this time, flashing a wicked smile. "As _a matter of fact_ , your blood has been… _mixing_ with mine, recently. Since I've arrived, really." She met the eyes of the man she had once felt for. "It is said that fetishes start developing in early youth. Tell me, Gomez. Does Pugsley often look such a way at _vampires_?"

" _What the hell are you saying?"_ Gomez's accent thickened with frustrated worry.

Bang. Bang. Bang. _Bang. Bang! Bang!_

There was a horrific pounding on the door from the outside, but it… it was locked.

"Oh, Gomez." Regina planted her feet firmly on the ground, and leveled her eyes at her former partner. "You just signed away your son."

And at those words, at those cold, cruel, black, bloody words… she vanished in a could of black and blood red-tinted smoke, laughing as she did.

Gomez now knew (not that he had ever desired to find out) what she had traded in her bat-wings for.

In unison with Regina's disappearing act, the door flung open (as if… by magic).

Morticia stood in the doorway, on the verge of tears and in a panic. She held herself there, in the doorway of the room of the woman she despised, to keep from collapsing. Her breathing was laboured, and her eyes were wide.

Her wide, panicked eyes looked straight into Gomez's. _"Pugsley is missing."_


	8. Amare a matris

Chapter 7: Amare a matris

" _Pugsley is missing."_ Morticia reiterated, her panicked eyes still just as wide.

Missing. Missing. _Pugsley is missing._

The words rang in Gomez's ears and reverberated off of the walls of his chaotically cluttered brain.

 _This is all my fault._ He thought, his eyes growing as wide as his wife's. _Our son is missing… and it's all my fault._

Before he could say anything to her, she again, spoke.

"Our son _, is_ missing _an no one can find him._ _I've searched the cemetery, I've searched the gazebo_ and Gomez, he's gone!" Morticia's arms fell from the doorframe and she ran into the room, facing her husband. " _The room in which Máma and I keep our spell books has been_ ransackedThere are _papers and artifacts all over the floor_ , there are _books missing,_ but more importantly- Pugsley _is missing_!" She yelled, throwing stoic into the wind. Her eyes burned with rage for the guilty party as she looked at her husband. "Now, you have to tell me what the hell is going on _right this instant_!" She demanded. "I will not lose _our son_ because of that wretched woman!"

Gomez's heart ached.

After his brother had left, he never thought his heart could capacitate a larger feeling of guilt. Regina's stay… and now, her absence… had proven him wrong.

His hands held Morticia's arms, his eyes never left hers… and he spoke. "Tish," he said. _"I am sorry."_

Morticia's breathing did not stabilize.

For the first time in her life, her husband's hold was not comforting her.

" _What the hell is going on?"_ She asked again.

Gomez sighed, and released her arms. He began to roll up his sleeve.

Morticia raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing?"

"Unveiling the big picture." Gomez replied, hurt and history alive (despite their fatality) in his voice. "I… mi encantadora, please… all I ask is that when I am through, you understand and you don't forget who I am."

Morticia took a deep breath and nodded, awaiting his next set of words… freezing, once her dark orbs of mystery met the dried blood on her husband's arm.

"I met Regina in the summer of 1969." Gomez began. "She was lingering in the Briarwood Towne Cemetery past visiting hours. I was a seventeen-year-old cad, looking for a good night." He stated, honestly.

Morticia stiffened.

Gomez continued, staring at her with guilt and adoration in his eyes. "I took her back to the mansion, and we…"

" _Just say it."_ Morticia prompted, knowing she had to hear the story to understand the big picture.

Gomez sighed. "We had sex."

Morticia decided it best to return to being stoic.

Gomez never broke eye contact with her despite wanting to so he could embrace her, and apologize for having to tell her that but… he continued.

Bloody big picture.

"I told her I liked her. To be more specific, I told her that I really liked her." Gomez said. "Regina saw this as having a real connection. Of course, I had no idea as she left the next day. Looking back on it today, I suppose she thought I was going to pursue her." He paused. "And as much as I _despise that woman_ , I was a bastard back then for not clarifying. She wasn't the first." He got quiet for a moment, but then Gomez spoke again. "Well, three days later, I was at it again. I had met a young woman… with similar red eyes as Regina. I -of course, not thinking- made no familial connection between the two." He seemed to go back to the scene as he told the tale… seemed to have the blood-soaked brush he had assisted in painting the big picture with back in hand as he used it for show and tell… describing everything in horrifically perfect detail. "This time, she took me back to her house to… do what I had done with Regina. We were in the middle of it, in her bedroom; when Regina burst in and found us." He bit down on his back teeth at the memory. "What I failed to ask, was the young woman's last name. What I failed to realize… was that the young woman was Regina's sister."

Morticia remained stoic, but something… something about her demeanour changed.

"Regina broke us apart, enraged. I haven't the slightest idea how, but she locked me in the bedroom closet. And no matter what I did, I could not get out of that closet; just like…" He furrowed his brows, in comprehension of the incident moments ago.

" _the door."_ Both he and his wife practically whispered in unison.

Gomez nodded, understanding, now and continued. "I couldn't see out from inside that closet… but I heard every bloodcurdling scream, every dying plea… every tear of flesh from bone and blood from body… until I heard nothing at all." He shook his head. "It was all but dead silent in the room for what felt like an eternity but what was only an hour when she did let me out. Upon my release from the closet of doom, I was greeted with a sight that haunted me in my dreams until I had something- _someone_ to dream about." He smiled, briefly. _"You."_ Then, he began speaking again. "The bloodied corpse of Regina's sister… _Lydia_ , was her name." Gomez shook his head. _The least I can do is use the woman's name._ He thought. "Red, stained the glass as it swished about in Regina's hand. Yet it made no noise. By the bitemarks on Lydia's neck, I could tell that Regina had bitten her. She had sucked her blood, practically drained it and now, it rested in the glass… in Regina's hand." Gomez felt bile coming up at the memory. "She made this, gurgling noise… this mocking gurgling noise and then she looked at me. On the dresser by the scene of the crime was a sheet of paper, a quill pen, and a dagger." He narrowed his eyes. "She took a sip of blood and said, _This happened once before, you know… long before you were so much as a thought in your parents' heads._ Then, she set the glass down on the dresser and put her mouth on my neck, ready to bite down and only release when I was dead or close enough for her to draw out my suffering and finish me off. She threatened me, saying that there could be two bodies on the floor like the last time… instead of just one." His narrowed eyes slowly returned to their original form as he spoke. "Wishing to live, I asked what I had to do. She cut me with the dagger, and told me to sign a blood pact… _the_ blood pact, that stated I owed her a debt that she could use against me wherever, whenever. To clarify, should she ever need anything from me… the blood pact I signed, said it would be hers."

Gomez had done it. He had unveiled -at long last- the big picture.

But there was still a bit of blood left that was dripping from its edges; and now that the big picture had been unveiled… the puddle on the floor that blood created was either not a threat at all, or the biggest threat the family had ever faced.

Whichever it was, now his black angel was going to find out… she deserved to know the truth.

Just because she knew the truth did not mean he still could not protect her from it.

"I woke up that night, in my own bed; alone." Gomez said. "I thought, perhaps, it had all been a nightmare…" He sighed and pulled up his sleeve where the new mark was. "until my eyes met the dried blood on my arm."

Morticia was in a complete state of shock. She had desired to know… but never like this. Never did she -in one million years- think it could be this.

"You signed _a blood pact_?" Her voice was even.

Gomez nodded. "Yes, Tish. And I am sorry I didn't tell you before but I couldn't. I couldn't live if something happened to you-"

Morticia grabbed his arm and examined the new mark, carefully. She looked back up at her husband. "Why wasn't this there before?" She asked.

"What?" Gomez questioned.

"The mark on your arm is from a dagger. She cut you…" Morticia paused, realization hitting her. Then, she stared into his eyes. _"again."_

"Querida, please allow me to explain." Gomez slowly took his arm away. "This is the part where I tell you I'm sorry, again… and that this, is all my fault. I…" He took a deep breath in. "Regina told me that she would leave, and release me of the blood pact I signed, years ago… if I signed a contract, in blood. Different than a blood pact." He explained. "All she wanted from me was a dead man's treasure. So, I went into the vault and I came back with the ruby stained with the blood of Captain Vincent Addams from his days of piracy on the Black Sea. And I gave it to her." He gestured at the dried blood on his arm. "In turn -as promised- she cut me with her dagger and allowed me to sign in blood on the new contract. I read the words, and they clearly stated the previously discussed terms of our deal." He shook his head. " _I am sorry,_ cara mia. The words changed before my eyes after I signed the contract… and I asked her why she needed the ruby. She didn't. She never wanted that, or me -she said she had lost me years ago. Our blood pact, the whole time, had been, invalid, because my soul was bonded to yours-" Gomez smiled inside at that… his black angel had saved him once again (and all this time, he was unaware she had done it) "Or…" He went on… growing more upset by the syllable. "She said that I had just signed away my- _our_ son."

Morticia gasped, hand to her mouth to suppress the sobs and remain stoic. She felt her lungs collapsing, her world closing in around her… slowly, she felt her knees sink to the ground.

Gomez held her steady and embraced her, guilt-ridden as he was. "Tish, _please_ …" He had no idea what he was begging for, but he was begging. He was begging her. "Please… I… _God, I'm such a fool_."

Morticia broke the embrace and stepped a couple of feet away from him, looking into his eyes. _"You lied to me."_ The words came out as more of a choke than a sentence.

Gomez gulped. " _Cara mia, I_ … was trying to protect you. You know that I would never lie to you, _ever_. _But, Tish_ … this time, I had to. I cannot let you get hurt. _What if she_ …?" He couldn't bring himself to think… no. No. He nodded, however and went on in speaking to her. "It was not because of honour or because once I said if she ever needed anything, I would be there." He told her. He added, then. "I was at her beck and call because of the terms of the blood pact and in part because I was afraid. I was afraid she was here to hurt you… or someone else in this family and I wanted to see what she was up to." He scoffed. "I should have tried to figure this out, and I failed! _And now our son is missing!_ "

Morticia shook her head, in disbelief. "You lied to me." She felt like she was going to be ill. "About _everything that had to do with that woman, you lied_. You allowed me to pour over pages and pages of the same copy of The Tell-Tale Heart for _two weeks_ in hurt because you _signed a blood pact to your former sex partner_!" Her eyes stung with tears that refused to fall.

"I only didn't tell you the truth out of concern for your safety." Gomez tried to explain. "Please, I would never do anything to hurt you."

" _But you lied to me."_ Morticia sat on the bed, but quickly jumped off of it… knowing who had been all over it. "You not only lied, you _left me_ multiple times and _now I know why_ and…" She took a deep breath. "I don't think you know just what that woman made me feel." Her tone was chilling… angrily, even. "She made me fear for a number of things, she made me question my sanity… that woman caused me to doubt my stability behind closed doors." Morticia took a deep breath. "But the one thing, I never doubted?" She blinked back tears. _"You."_ as

Questioning and doubt. Two words just as dissimilar as hurt and pain.

Gomez's insides burned… his guilt was unbearable.

"Come Heaven or highwater, I never doubted you." Morticia assured him. "And with _every fiber of my being_ , I trust you. _Do you understand_ , how very important your trust is to me?"

Gomez nodded. "Yes, Tish… yes, of course I do."

" _Do you?"_ Morticia asked again. "I could never trust a word anyone said since my father died, Gomez. _But you_ … you never have given me _a single reason_ to doubt you, or to mistrust you. You have been my saving grace as much as I have been yours. You don't know what it feels like when your saving grace lies to you." Her eyes fluttered as she blinked, but did not look away from her husband. "Now I ask you again, _do you understand_ how very important your trust is to me?"

Gomez broke inside. He would never hurt her, or betray her… or… God, he felt sick, and awful. And… tears, were forming in his eyes as well as words, that were forming on his lips. Morticia, _yes._ I do.I would never, _ever betray you or the trust you have in me."_ He promised. " _This_ , _this_ was because I _cannot_ lose you, mi amore. I _cannot_ , and I _will not_ lose you or allow you to get hurt… and certainly not because of me." He shook his head. _"Not at all."_

Morticia nodded, slowly but still felt as though she were going to collapse.

There was a silence in the room.

Until Gomez's black angel broke it. "Did she ever ask you to… to… touch her?" She crossed her arms, desperate to contain her pent-up emotion.

Gomez met her eyes once more. "Tish… yes. She did." He responded, then quickly adding: " _And what do you think I did?_ I haven't _laid a hand_ on that woman like that since I was _seventeen-years-old_ , querida! I _would never, could never_ ; I don't care _who or what_ I would have defied." He swore, then walking over to her… slowly closing the distance between the two of them. " _I adore you_ , Tish. _You are my everything._ Without you, I do not exist. There is no point to existence for me, nor is there any chance in it, without you. I would do _anything_ for you, mi hermosa diosa. I would build you a palace entirely out of my blood and a throne of my bones with a smile on my face and my heart placed on that shrine I promised you." He winked. _"I was never a religious man until I began worshipping you."_ He had now closed the space between them, and he placed adoring hands on her hips. "And cara mia, I will _always_ be devoted to you, _completely_. _Never_ , have I been unfaithful to you and _never would I be_ , even in pursuit of protection; and not my own." He then removed one hand from her hip and placed it on her chin, gently directing her to face him. "And _I am sorry,_ my dearest… for everything that I have caused. You… you amaze me, mi encantadora." He smiled. Then, the smile faded as he stared deeper into her wounded eyes. "Please, Tish… I promise, it will be alright. We will fix this, and I'm going to… I'm going to do everything I can to rewrite the horrible history I've created with Regina."

" _Gomez…"_ Morticia melted at his touch, at the sound of his voice… she couldn't do this without him. Any of this, even breathe… even that, she couldn't do without her amour… her oxygen. "I know. I know." She sighed. "Pugsley's disappearance is not your fault." She assured him. "It's _hers_. It's that _wretched woman_ who…" She looked down briefly, then back up at him. _"Its hers."_ She caressed his cheek, and he pulled her closer. "I know my middle name is stoic, mon cher…" Morticia wrapped her arms around his neck then, and pressed her temple against his. "But, I am very scared." She admitted. "I don't want to lose our son."

"It's alright, querida." Gomez rubbed her back, soothingly and held her, tightly while she ran her nails over the back of his neck. "It's alright." He assured her. _"As am I."_ He whispered.

"What would I do without you?" Morticia asked, briefly closing her eyes.

"Amore de mi vida…" Gomez began. "I ask myself what I'd do without you every single day."

" _Je t'aime, mon amour."_ Morticia leaned in.

" _Te amo, cara mia."_ Gomez kissed her, full of intense passion.

Morticia looked into his eyes, then and spoke. "I'll take Máma and Wednesday to the room where we keep our spell books. We'll look through the ones that we can find and we'll try to figure out where they took Pugsley and…" She took a breath. "what they plan to do with him."

Gomez nodded. "I'm going with you. I'll help in any way I can." He cocked his head. "Granted, I can't decipher spells. But still, I think I can be of service."

Morticia nuzzled her head in his shoulder. "Of course you're coming. I can't be without you."

Gomez's lips met her hand. "I'll be at your feet. Anything you need, you say the word, and I will get it for you."

"You've been at my feet." Morticia smirked. "But you're idea works out quite well, because I love having you there."

Gomez groaned. "Oh, Tish… believe me, I'm well aware." He replied and began to devour her fingers. _"The dungeon…"_ He recalled, sensually working his way up her arm.

" _My whip…"_ Morticia's eyes burned with a passionate fire at the reminiscence.

Gomez's lips then met her neck. _"Eres divina…"_ He growled, holding her close and leaving a hickey for her.

"Mmm _… tu es divin."_ Morticia moaned.

Gomez's lips and tongue met hers for a passionate meeting… and they held each other, grabbing, clawing… desperate to feel the other's touch… hear the other's voice…

Morticia ran a pale, elegant finger over Gomez's bottom lip. "Let's go meet Máma and Wednesday. I promise, if your at my feet… there will be more than enough time for this while I'm working."

"Of course, mi hermosa diosa." Gomez linked his arm through hers and kissed her hand. "As long as you promise me I can create constant yet extremely pleasurable distractions." He winked.

Morticia laughed as they exited the room. "And our son in peril?"

"He'll understand." He joked.

If the lovers didn't laugh, they feared they would cry. So why not laugh together?

Morticia leaned her head against his shoulder as they walked. "I'm worried about him, mon cher."

Gomez planted a kiss on her head. "Me too, Tish. But he will be alright." He assured her.

He would be. He hoped.

….

True to Mrs. Addams' description of the scene, spell books were missing (having been pulled directly from the shelves), papers were scattered across the ebony wooden floor and artifacts had been lifted from their carefully placed positions on the witches' shelves and thrown, callously onto the floor.

The magick room (also Morticia Esmeralda's personal library) was in complete disarray. Yet, still, its elements of mystique and eccentricity could not be expelled.

Its wallpaper was gothic, and dark brown-ish red with black witch patterns popping up all over it (yet, not covering it).

The high, arched ceiling was black with a massive (taking up the almost the entirety of the ceiling), lighter black, porcelain pentacle engraved into it.

The floor was of dark ebony wood.

Dark brown bookshelves lined and were connected to the walls, some few feet from the ceiling. Contained in the bookshelves were spell books of all kinds (black magick, primarily but a few on the practices of white witches and… one could get lost in the array of books owned by Esmeralda and her daughter) and occult objects (skulls, candles, pentagrams, voodoo dolls…) -the ones that had not been thrown onto the floor- rested like great and terrible beauties atop the bookshelves.

Its back to the black, porcelain double doors (equipped with large door-knockers, designed to look like lions), a couch sat a few feet away from the center of the room. It was gothic, grey and black with a black, thick blanket draped over it.

Also in the room (in no particular order) were two gothic armchairs (that appeared as though the creator of Dracula's furniture and everything Elvira had ever sat in had gotten together to make them). Hanging from the ceiling, toward the center of the room (where a blood pentacle was carved into the floor, underneath a black cauldron) was another chair, a couple of feet off of the ground; simple, elegant and black.

Adjacent to the back wall was a black, circular table with a candelabra placed in the centre of it. The eccentric chairs around it, too, were black (the same shade of midnight).

A few lamps were placed on small, brown stands throughout the room. They were characteristic of Morticia and her mother's tastes. One of the longer lamps (one of the only two that stood without a stand; placed adjacent to an armchair) was shaped entirely like a wilted rose, with blood dripping from its thorns. The other was shaped like a blackened, dark blue octopus tentacle with spikes covering the lampshade (respectively placed next to another armchair).

A large window took up most of the back wall. It was covered only partway by long, gothic, grey drapes made to look exactly like spiderwebs; thus, showcasing the screaming winds of the outside, the thunderous bellowing of the clouds… and the overtly bright purple moments of blinking between their flood of tears… at the disappearance of the son of their mother of darkness.

The double doors opened with a loud creak.

Morticia looked up from her the spell book she was examining (unmoving from the armchair at which she was seated), to lay eyes upon her daughter and Lurch, now standing in the magick room.

Morticia sighed. "You found nothing in the library?" She asked as the doors shut behind the pair.

Wednesday shook her head. "No, mother." She replied. "Lurch and I looked through every book in the library and we couldn't find a single clue."

Lurch shook his head, and groaned in discouraged agreement.

Morticia shared a disheartened expression with her husband -whom had been handing her books to probe for the past hour-and-a-half, as well as assisting in any other way(s) possible- and turned back to her daughter, cocking her head. "Well, -not to offend the man- but I can't imagine The Memoirs of Convicted Serial Killer Woodrow Addams would be that helpful."

"They weren't." Wednesday concluded; then told her mother: "I had Lurch investigate every page of Blood by Ebenezer Addams."

" _And?"_ Esmeralda now looked up from the book she had been investigating (seated on the other armchair), after circling a line she deemed somewhat helpful.

"The only thing that related to Regina and Scarlett was the title." Wednesday was fortunate that she was so monotone; as her disgust for the two attempted to take over most of her being as she uttered those names.

She felt like an idiot for not going out there… not intercepting as per her brother's instructions. As now, he was missing. And she couldn't help but feel a bit personally responsible.

However, even if she had been an idiot for not going after him, not telling him the truth about Scarlett sooner… _not figuring out_ the truth about Scarlett sooner- he had been a bigger one.

He had fallen in love with that bat, ignored the blood red flags that were right in front of him, allowed her and her mother to infiltrate every part of his family and watched as her mother dissected it for own amusement… he called her mother _Ms. Blood_.

But regardless… regardless, she still remembered running through the cemetery, searching for her younger brother. Calling his name, _Pugsley_ ; but hearing the word, _missing_ , ring in her ears over and over again… getting louder and louder, each time she screamed out his name… praying he would hear her.

He didn't.

" _Damn."_ Esmeralda grumbled and resumed her work with the book in her lap.

"That doesn't surprise me." Gomez admitted, walking closer to his wife's chair and putting affectionate hands on her shoulders. "My great grandfather used to say that your Uncle Ebenezer was one confusing man. He loved to title books based on the first thing he saw when he woke up the day they were published."

Lurch groaned.

Morticia smiled up and her husband, then met her daughter's eyes.

This -for the first time- sent a chill down Wednesday's spine.

Her eyes. _Her_ eyes.

Their eyes.

"Wednesday?" She asked.

Wednesday -despite her previous (Still existing?) chill- moved, not. "Yes, mother?"

"Thank you-" Morticia briefly turned to Lurch. "You, too, Lurch."

"You're welcome." Lurch moaned, lowly (rarely one to talk; but never one to disrespect Mrs. Addams).

Morticia then met Wednesday's eyes once more.

There again, came the chill.

"Thank you, Wednesday, for working with Lurch in the library. Now," Morticia looked around the magick room, and her dark orbs of mystery fell upon one of the several untouched shelves in the room. "Please begin looking through the books on that shelf over there. The pens are on the table. If you see an object -whether on the floor or otherwise- that you think might help us find out where they… took Pugsley, please bring it to me." She politely instructed.

"Yes, mother." Wednesday nodded and went to work with the books on the shelf.

Gomez wore an empathetic expression and took Morticia's delicate hand, bringing it to his soft, worshipping lips.

Morticia sighed in strengthened relief.

"Is this helping?" Gomez asked and continued to kiss her.

He desperately tried to do whatever he could… but he couldn't read the books. Many of them were in Latin (a language he didn't understand), and the ones that weren't, he understood just as much as Latin.

He adored his wife; she was his everything. And he respected her craft (although she was not nearly as obsessive with the occult as her mother). He just could never do it.

He had never studied the black arts, the occult or witchcraft as his wife had.

Hell, Morticia's entire college degree was spells and hexes!

But he, on the other hand, had not had private magick tutors. So, he figured -in this area- he would be more of a burden (asking which symbol meant what, what language which book was in, or the difference between the symbols for fire and earth) than an assistant to anyone.

So, Gomez stayed by his encantadora's side, handed her books and did everything he could to help in any way he could that didn't require being quite as well-versed in magick.

Morticia smirked. _"Oui, mon diable."_ She turned a page with her free hand. "Very much so."

"Good." Gomez looked down at the book to see if he could understand at least a portion of it.

He understood the words, _and_ , _to_ and _die_.

He did not feel this was helpful.

"Mrs.…" Lurch cleared his throat, in an awkward position. "Mrs. Addams?"

Morticia looked up from her book. "Yes, Lurch?"

"What should I do?" He asked.

"Look through the bookshelf across from Wednesday, please." Morticia replied.

Lurch groaned and nodded, then doing as bade.

"Thank you, Lurch." Morticia called to him, resuming her work.

"Morticia?" Máma raised an eyebrow, casting a glance at her daughter.

"Yes, Máma?" Morticia's back ached, but she sat straight up, and circled another possibly helpful passage.

"Do you think this means something?" Esmeralda cleared her throat and read from the spell book. _"Quod sanguis de senex testudo graeca?"_

Morticia registered her words, then her eyes grew concerned as she looked at her mother. _"The blood of the elderly turtle?"_ She questioned, a bit worried for her mother's mental well-being.

Esmeralda's eyes practically popped out of her head; the words on the page, jumping out at her. "Oh, that _is_ what that says; isn't it?" She shook her head, looking back over at her daughter. "I saw _sanguis_ and I thought of Regina."

Morticia nodded, unconvinced. "Have you hit the bottle recently, Máma?" She inquired, a small smirk on her lips.

"No!" Máma scoffed. Then she muttered: "Define recently."

Morticia rolled her eyes.

"Really, Máma? At a time like this?" Gomez asked and shook his head, feigning slight shame.

Esmeralda snapped her teeth. " _It is eleven pm!_ What do you want from an old woman who's used to rest and a glass of wine? _Blood?_ " She questioned.

Morticia's head perked up at this and she took a glance at the old, Victorian, gothic clock on the wall.

11:00 pm.

Gomez looked into his wife's tired eyes. "Tish, is everything alright?" He inquired.

Morticia nodded, slowly and turned to her daughter. "Wednesday?" Exhaustion weighed down her soft voice, but it was nonetheless beautiful.

Wednesday removed her head from the spell book she had been working in. "Yes, mother?"

"It's eleven pm. Now, I know you want to help your brother. But you can't do that if you've passed out from exhaustion." Morticia explained. "I'm sorry, darling, but the only thing I'll be reading tonight are spell books. Lurch and Thing will tuck you in."

Wednesday stood, but planted her feet firmly on the ground. _"But, mother-"_

"Wednesday, I won't have you hurt yourself." Morticia stated, firmly. "Get some sleep. I promise, you can continue working in the morning."

Wednesday -persistent- stayed put. " _Mother, please._ I can't sleep knowing that I could be down here helping to find Pugsley."

"Wednesday, listen to your mother." Gomez chimed in, taking his wife's hand. "We're only trying to do what's best for you."

Wednesday shook her head and continued staring at her mother. " _What about you?"_ She asked. " _You're_ staying up."

"So am I." Máma slowly raised her hand, not helping the situation.

Morticia's voice was incredibly even when she spoke to her defiant young daughter. "Wednesday, I'm a grown woman." She responded. "Now, I know you're concerned for your brother. Believe me, darling, all of us miss him very much and are doing everything in our power to get him back. But you can't help if you can't stand up straight. Can you?"

Wednesday said nothing.

Morticia raised an eyebrow. "Can you?"

" _No."_ Wednesday begrudgingly answered. "But mother," She hastily added. "as of now, I can stand up straight. I'm not tired." She persevered.

"Wednesday, don't argue with your mother." Gomez's hands squeezed Morticia's shoulders. "She's had a very hard day and has a long night ahead of her. Please, I know you miss Pugsley. Believe me, darling, we all do. We are doing everything we can to save him. But you have to get your sleep, Wednesday."

Wednesday scoffed. "Like you do?"

Gomez's eyes widened, about to go into angry father mode but Morticia held up a light, commanding hand.

"Wednesday?" Morticia spoke, her tone clearly angered but still very… even. " _Go to bed._ Now Her stoic features were just that; only she gave her daughter that look… that look that told her children when she was angry.

Her eyes burned.

Wednesday crossed her arms, and just barely met her mother's eyes. _"Yes, mother."_ She replied, irate, stomping out of the magick room.

Lurch groaned, casting a sympathetic glance Mr. and Mrs. Addams way… and following the young girl out of the room, Thing on his shoulder.

Gomez took Morticia's hand, bringing it to his lips. "You handled that much better than I would have, Tish." He said to her.

Morticia looked up at him. "Well, you have to admit, Wednesday _is_ stubborn." She shook her head. "Like you."

This utterance caused Máma to all but fall out of her chair, laughing.

Morticia turned to her mother. "Did I say something, Máma?" She questioned.

Máma nodded, wiping a jovially hysteric tear from her eye. _"Yes!"_ She slapped her knee, nearly drop the spell book she had been looking through. "Like… like _him_?" She asked, desperate to get herself under control.

"Yes." Morticia replied, coolly.

Gomez bit his lip, understanding what his mother-in-law was hinting at.

" _Morticia_ , if I were _anyone_ is stubborn, it's you." Esmeralda took a deep breath, sitting up a bit straighter.

Morticia scoffed. "Pardon?"

Gomez's eyes shifted.

Taking notice of this, Morticia looked back up at her husband. "Gomez?" Her nails lightly drummed on his hand and her eyes fluttered when she looked at him, causing his heart to melt whilst skipping several beats all in the span of point-two seconds. "Have you something you'd like to tell me?"

Gomez swallowed, hard and met her eyes… unable to look away.

God, when she looked at him that way…

Gomez thought for a moment. "Not that I'd _like_ to tell you-"

Esmeralda was sent into a brief fit of laughter at his words.

" _Gomez?"_ Morticia persisted, stroking his hand… a slight hint of vulnerability in her tone.

Gomez sighed, gazing into her eyes. "Well, Tish, you _can be_ -"

" _Are!"_ Máma interjected.

" _Thank you_ , Máma." Gomez rolled his eyes. "You _are_ , a bit stubborn, mi encantadora."

Morticia's eyes widened. "Stubborn? _Just how_ am I stubborn?" She asked him.

Gomez moved from his place behind her chair, and his wife's dark eyes followed him as he walked, then stopping to stand before her.

He smirked. "Well, my dearest…" He tried to think of the perfect recent example, and then he found it. "Last month? Enrique had thrown some random party, it was getting late, we had gone upstairs for a few minutes." He continued when he saw the smile in his wife's eyes. "I wanted to stay upstairs but you thought we should go back to the ballroom and finish the party; not that either of us wanted to." He shook his head. "For ten minutes, you didn't back the idea of staying in the guest bedroom. And not until _I got on my knees_ did you-"

" _So_ , I'll be looking for a deafening spell if anyone needs me!" Máma cut him off, and buried her face in the book.

"I may be stubborn, but so are you; and just as much as I am." Morticia stated, ignoring her mother. "That was made quite clear after you eventually got me to stay upstairs…" She took his hand and pulled him closer, her body, pressed against his own… creating passionate frustration at the intrusive barrier that was their clothing. _"And not come down…"_

"Until Enrique found us and told us it was noon _the next day_ …" Gomez bent to be at eye level with her and took her ghost-white hands, placing a passionate kiss on them.

"I fell asleep in your arms…" Morticia leaned in.

" _Cara mia…"_ Gomez caressed her cheek.

" _Mon sauvage…"_ Morticia kissed him.

Gomez was desperate for her lips, having been deprived of them for so long… he pulled her closer, savouring the moment that would not come again -they knew- for at least another half an hour.

And another half-hour of work soon turned to hours, which spilled over into a full night… thus, making it early morn.

Everyone had worked as hard as they could (no one searching through spells, harder than Pugsley's mother); their eyes becoming nearly as red as those of their enemies (every part _but_ their irises).

Not a single person in the room could stand up straight without strain or fatigue (as if that had not already fallen upon them). Their bodies were giving out much faster than their hearts had intended.

Lurch and Thing had been the first to retire.

The two were barely conscious when they did (doing so, an hour upon their return from tucking in the stubborn Wednesday). Gomez, Morticia and her mother had chalked it up to happenstance that they both had fallen asleep at the same time.

Thing had given out, his fingers unable to move, let alone do anything else.

Lurch had been kind enough (despite his own obvious enervation) to take him upstairs to bed.

It had been two hours since then. Neither party had returned.

Esmeralda now feared she would be the next to go.

Her vision was becoming blurred, and she was yawning more frequently.

She sighed, deciding to verify her lucidity by attempting to read a portion of the spell book, now in her hands.

"Mortic-" She yawned once more. "Morticia?"

"Yes, Máma?" Morticia looked up, not, from her book.

"This: _A resurrexit rubras quasi sanguinem_." Esmeralda looked up at her daughter, then. " _That means a red-managed business… has the blood_ ; right?" She almost didn't ask, after hearing herself question the phrase out loud. By the time she reached the words, _has the blood_ , she knew she was not able to think properly.

Morticia shook her head. "No, Máma." She responded. "It means, _a rose_ as red as _blood_."

" _Damn figures."_ Esmeralda sighed, and aggressively shut her spell book.

She stood then and eyed her daughter and son-in-law, sympathetically. "I'm sorry." She yawned. "I can't think straight, or see straight… I circled a few passages. I'm trying to get that boy back as much as everyone else but… I'm an old woman that needs her sl… needs her sleep." Her eyes began to close, and she walked out of the magick room… half-consciously banging into a shelf before exiting.

Morticia shook her head, paying no attention to the wall-clock that now read 2:00 am.

"Well, mon amour…" She flipped a page in her book. "It's just us." She said.

Gomez looked up at her from where he sat, and his worry only grew… she looked completely exhausted.

Her eyes were bloodshot, and she was… a different _kind_ , of pale. She stifled her yawns, but they were there. And she blinked, furiously… likely unable to read every word before her… unable to see them without great difficulty.

"Yes." Gomez nodded, hesitantly. "It appears it is." He shook his head, his worry for his darling once, consuming him whole. "Tish, is there _anything else_ I can do to help besides hand you books and bring you tea? You… I'm worried about you."

Morticia did not look up but took a sip of the henbane tea he had brought her an hour prior. "No thank you, mon cher." She replied. "I'm worried about our son."

Gomez was going to say more; but he did not, and instead waited, patiently for her next command (whenever she would indeed give it).

But more time passed… and the clock hit 3:13 am.

Gomez couldn't stand it anymore! He couldn't watch his wife suffer for another minute. He felt guilty, he felt terrible… and he was worried beyond imagination about his poor querida.

He was worried about his son, about his wife…

 _None of this,_ he thought. _Would have happened if not for what I have done._

Pugsley, his son… one of his children; had been taken. He had been taken, and was in danger. And there was little time to get him back, he knew.

It ate him alive with anxiety and madness knowing one of his children was out there… suffering at the hands of the beast that had betrayed him, twice now.

Although this second time, it was much more serious.

 _Now,_ Gomez felt like a liar (as never before -despite what Regina had done- he never truly had). _Now,_ he felt like he didn't deserve the title of being an honest man. _Now_ … he felt like Regina was right.

He had screamed, tormented by his demons (one of which had been standing before him), that that damned black bat from hell would not have any part of his family.

But now, she did. She -and her demon spawn- had his son.

And _now_ , he felt like- he _was_ , a liar.

Gomez looked up at his wife… and his heart broke.

She was working like a machine… a machine that had gotten gallons of water spilled all over it, but still refused to stop its performing its designated process despite the sparks flying off of it… and the steam, running out of it.

His voice shook with concern when he spoke to her, but he stabilized it.

He had to.

"Tish?" He waited for her eyes to meet his.

They did not. There was simply no response at all.

"Tish?" Gomez tried again.

Nothing.

Gomez stood. _"Morticia?"_

And still, no reaction from the woman he adored… he so seldom called by her birth-given name.

Gomez walked over to her chair, -knowing what needed to be done, although proceeding with caution- gently lifted the book out of her hands and set it on the stand next to her.

This indeed prompted a reaction; but not the type he had hoped for.

Morticia suddenly became very agitatedly upset and she looked up at her husband. "Where is the book?Gomez, what are you doing, _where is the book_?"

"Tish, _please_." Gomez's eyes were pleading. "It's on the table- "

" _Give me the book,_ Gomez!" Morticia's voice raised as panic began to set in. "I… _I have_ to find Pugsley." She met his eyes, angered. "Why did you take the book?"

"Because, my darling…" Gomez took a step closer to her chair. "you have to rest."

Morticia shook her head, her eyes as wide as a doe caught in the headlights of a great semi-truck. _"No."_

Gomez nodded, desiring to take her hand and ease her tension but not wishing to bring about more. " _Yes._ " He insisted. "Tish, you aren't well. _Believe me,_ querida… you can't stand up straight, you can barely see."

Morticia's head still shook; her eyes, growing wider. "No. _Give me the book._ "

"I can't." Gomez was sorrowful of face, but unfortunately persistent of tone.

He had to be.

"Give me the book!" Morticia cried, her eyes frantically searching for the magick artifact.

She caught a glimpse of the book on the stand next to her, and she reached for it as though her life depended on it.

Seeing this, Gomez put a sturdy hand on it.

Morticia pulled it out from under his hands like a woman possessed, and sat it in her lap, making strong yet fragile attempts at reading the black words before her.

"Et… _et_ fiunt pulver _u_ … _pulvert_ … _pulver_ is…" Morticia shook her head, slipping closer and closer into a panic. "I can't read the words." She breathed. "I can't read the words; they're blurry, I don't understand them!" She looked up at Gomez. _"Why can't I read the words?"_

"You're tired, my darling." Gomez felt his heart shattering at her distress, her panicked exhaustion… her stubborn strength that was right now, crossing the line.

But he knew it was not stubbornness.

It was a mother's love.

Still… he had to prevent her from hurting herself, or else she would not be able to love Pugsley (she would be… Gomez couldn't bare to think about that possibility).

Gomez slowly reached to take the book from her hands. "You… you need to rest."

"I _can't_ rest- _don't touch the book_!" Morticia pulled the book closer to her chest and ran a hand through her hair… leaning back in the chair.

Gomez was now more concerned for her than ever before.

Morticia was always calm. Sure, she could tell him how she felt. And to him, mostly, she displayed emotion. But she was never panicked. She was never crazed. She never looked at him with wild eyes, clutching a magick book; tearless but crying out for her lost son.

"I'm sorry." Gomez said, for what had to be the thousandth time since the shitstorm that fell upon them did so. Gomez knelt down before her, gripping the arms of the chair. "Please, Morticia… I am begging you, put the book down." He pleaded.

Morticia's breathing was laboured. "Why?" She asked.

" _Because_ , my dearest… this is _killing you_ -"

" _And what if they're killing our son?"_ Morticia threw the book on the ground (nothing in the damn thing was helping anyway), looking back at her husband. "I…" She shook her head, again. "I'm sorry, Gomez." She said, then. "Now, please… hand me another book."

Gomez's head fell in her lap, and he sighed. Then, his head rose back up and he met her eyes again. "Mi corazón, you know I would never say no to you… but, Tish… you are asking me to contribute to your suffering-"

" _Gomez- "_

" _Not_ that kind." Gomez knew what her argument would have been. And he couldn't… this was important; this was her health. He took her hand. "Tish, I am not asking you to stop working. I wouldn't. I _won't_." He promised. "But, you have to rest. You need to sleep. I will hand you another book… in the morning."

" _It_ is _morning."_ Morticia replied; her tone, edged with desperation.

" _Later_ in the morning." Gomez clarified. "Mi hermosa diosa, _please_ … I can't stand to watch you hurt and do nothing to stop it. I feel my heart break when all I can do is bring you a cup of henbane and your _breaking your spine_ , pouring over pages of spell books to try and find our son." He stroked her hair, looking deep into her eyes. " _You are my everything_ , I can't… _it breaks me_ to watch you go through this and be powerless to do more than what I'm already doing. It breaks me in ways you can never understand." He closed his eyes, holding back tears. He squeezed her hand. " _I am worried about you_ , amore de mi eternidad. _Please._ "

Morticia squeezed his hand in response, and leaned in close to him (her back, aching immensely). "I know, Gomez. I know. I'm sorry." She said, in a soothing tone of voice. "I'll be alright, mon cher." She assured him, planting a kiss on his lips and resting his head in her lap. "I promise, I will be alright. And…" She took a deep breath, fighting back her own tears. "so will Pugsley." She said, running her fingers over his hair. _"It's going to be alright."_ She whispered, both to her husband and to herself.

Gomez sighed in relief. He had no idea what he would do without her; his saving grace, his black angel… his amore. His reason for breathing.

He lifted his head and looked back into her eyes, taking her hands again. And shook his head. " _Goddamit_ , he wouldn't even be missing right now if it weren't for me."

Morticia's eyes were hurt… as if his statement had deeply offended _her_. _"Don't say that."_ She commanded, squeezing his hands. "Pugsley's disappearance _was not, is not, and will never be_ your fault." She told him. "I never once blamed you. I don't, now. And that isn't going to change. And I will be _damned_ if you carry this guilt with you forever _just like you do with_ …" She didn't say his name, but she looked into her husband's eyes, knowingly.

And he knew. He knew -without it being said- exactly who she was referring to.

Morticia continued, placing delicate, porcelain hand on his cheek. "This _isn't your fault_. I won't allow you to carry the weight of two worlds on your shoulders." She grimaced. "One is enough."

Gomez closed his eyes for a moment, then stared back into hers, and took her free hand. "My black angel… I don't think you realize just how much you have saved me." He kissed the hand he held, not breaking their gaze. "You are… an enchantment, my saving grace. _Thank you_ … you don't know how much those words mean to me." He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. "I only hope you know how much _you_ mean to me."

" _I do."_ Morticia nodded, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Just, please tell me you won't blame yourself forever. And that you don't; at least, not as much." She begged.

Gomez pressed his forehead against hers. "I will do _anything_ for you. I also would never lie to you. And I can promise you, Tish, that I will not blame myself forever. And that because of you, I don't… as much as I did."

"Good." Morticia smiled. "Je t'aime, mon amour."

"Ti amo, cara mia." Gomez kissed her, deeply, intensely… passionately, his tongue dancing with hers, that beautiful, erotic tango that only the two of them could feel.

He helped her stand up and drew her close to him, pulling her deeper into their kiss and running his fingers through her hair.

Morticia wished to every power there was that they could have stayed like that… frozen in time, holding each other, barely drawing in breaths, forgetting the world around them existed-

But her eyes fell upon the book.

Her eyes fell upon the book and cold, cruel reality came crashing back in.

Standing now, on her own two feet, Morticia realized how incredibly drained she was. Fatigue had long ago taken over her; but that was not all. No; she experienced a soreness, an aching like she had never experienced before. Her entire body but mainly her back and her shoulders screamed out in agony and her feet were tingling. Her eyes were forcing themselves to remain open… her bloodshot eyes.

But her love for her son was stronger than her body.

Yet her body was still in so much unbearable pain.

Still, Morticia put a delicate hand on her husband's chest and looked into his eyes. "Please, please, Gomez… hand me another book. Let me read, let me work. Let me do this." Unable to solely stand on her own to feet, she leaned into him, exhausted and heartbroken. "I have to…" She attempted to stifle a yawn; but alas, the semi-silent indication of her body's need for sleep was not suppressed. "I have to…" Her eyes began to close, unwillingly. "We can't lose him, Gomez. I have to do this, we can't…" Then, the first tear of the night… finally fell from her bloodshot eyes. But her tear was followed by more unrelenting exhaustion. She all but collapsed in her husband's arms.

Gomez held his encantadora in his arms and planted a kiss on her forehead, soothingly rubbing her back. "I know, Tish." His tone was almost hushed. "I know, my dearest."

"I have to…" Morticia's eyes shut, fully closing for the first and last time that night… as she had fallen asleep in her amour's arms.

Gomez took not a moment to notice this (as he had hoped to induce it), and gently lifted her up… then carrying her over to the couch. He gently lied her down on top of him, holding her tightly from behind. He then pulled the black, thick blanket over them.

The lamps in the magick room (either perfectly timed or possessed), then turned off.

In her sleep, Morticia snuggled closer to her husband.

Gomez kissed her temple. "Goodnight, my black angel." He whispered. "I promise… it will be alright." He had not been this close to tears in oh, so long. And yet, _now_ , here he was. "And I am terribly sorry; for all of this." He sighed, kissing her one last time. He then closed his eyes and gave into a restless sleep… his demons only silenced due to the presence and the power, of his black angel.

….

Morticia's eyes jolted open… they never did that.

She awakened in a panic, and the only thing she saw 'round her was blackness… and subtle amounts of light peeking through the semi-uncovered window on the back wall.

But she couldn't focus on that… no. All she could focus on was the nightmare her subconscious had only recently released her from.

It was horrible… more horrible than anything for her lost little boy that she could ever imagine.

But the worst part? The worst part… was that she could barely recall any of it.

All she could remember was agony. Agony… agony unlike anything she was willing to break herself to make damned sure her children never had to experience, that was what her son was going through.

And there wasn't anything she could do about it. She simply had to watch… alone; suffer herself, and watch the brutal tearing of her very own flesh and bone… watch their tormentors set fire to Morticia and her husband'sbeautiful creation… _their family_.

Light a fire… _light a fire_? They had set the whole damn thing ablaze.

And all she could do was watch. And suffer.

She breathed, loudly and uncontrollably and her eyes were wide with rage at who or what had set that fire… and wide with immense, unadmitted fear of the blaze.

Gomez -having been awake for the past few minutes, but virtually unmoved from his sleeping position- noticed her sudden burst of awakened anxiety and quickly wrapped his arms, tighter around her.

Morticia gasped. Then -the realization of where she was and just who held her, hitting her like a bolt of lightning- she pressed close against him, and shivered.

"Tish, are you alright? What happened?" Gomez asked and stroked her hair, kissing her head.

Morticia took a deep breath before she spoke. "Gomez, it was terrible. I saw Pugsley, and… I can't remember, I just remember _watching him suffer_ and I was alone. But I was watching him, _in agony_ and _I couldn't do anything_ ; _I'm going to_ kill _that woman_!" Morticia sat up, still held tightly by her husband.

Gomez continued to stroke her hair, and craned his neck for her to nuzzle her head into. "It's alright, my dearest. It was just a dream, I promise." He assured her. "Pugsley will be alright."

Morticia shook her head, obviously quite shaken and pulled up the blanket.

"Do you know how you can tell that it was just a dream?" Gomez asked and kissed the hand he held, drawing her as close to him as possible.

"How?" Morticia asked and looked up at him.

"Because you were alone." Gomez replied, staring, deeply into her eyes. "And querida, no matter what happens… come heaven or highwater, I would never leave you alone."

Morticia embraced him, wrapping her arms around his neck and planting a kiss on his lips. "Je t'aime, mon cher." She almost smiled, allowing her head to rest between his neck and shoulder.

"Ti amo, cara mia." Gomez kissed her again, unable to resist, and desperately needing to comfort her after the night she had had.

Despite the affectionate warmth and adoration her husband offered her… her mind still wandered to the nightmare she had had… to her son.

"Gomez?" She asked, attempting to keep her voice from shaking.

"Yes, mi encantadora?" Gomez answered.

"When I ran out to the gazebo, to look for Pugsley…" Morticia's voice was just about to crack, but she would not allow it. "I found the tie you gave him." She told him. "It was on the ground, just lying there… lifeless, and surrounded by this bloody… history." And as she spoke, for the first time since her little boy was taking from her… her nails dug into her husband's skin, and she burst into a flood of tears. "And all I could think was that I couldn't let Pugsley become a part of that history!"

"Tish…" Gomez swallowed back his own tears and held onto his wife as tight as he possibly could… doing the only thing he could; which was be there for her.

He held his wife while she cried, and kissed away any tear he saw… he stroked her hair and-

No. This was… _this_ was ludicrous, this was wrong, this… was history.

Bloody history. _Damned, bloody history_ \- _no_.

History would not torture his wife. And it would not take his child.

"Mi corazón, I… I am so sorry. I am so sorry." He rubbed her back and kissed her neck (only during his kisses did he break eye contact with her). "It's alright. It's going to be alright." He promised, helplessly feeling as guilty as the several sins he was sure he had committed in almost every faith that existed. "We will find Pugsley, my dearest. We-"

At his words, Morticia shot up of off the couch as if it were on fire.

She took a look at the clock on the wall.

8:00 am.

Her head jerked in the opposite direction when she looked away from the spot on the wall, as if the old, Victorian clock had scorned her.

She hastily grabbed a spell book off of the bookshelf and ran to the armchair after grabbing a pen from off of the floor (straining her already sore back in the process), sitting down in it and opening the book with no time to waste… ready to kill herself for having lost precious hours of work.

Gomez jumped from the couch, going after her (as though she were running… with her legs). He assumed the position he had mere hours prior, and knelt down before her.

He watched as sitting on the chair, his darling one forced herself to read and circle like a madwoman; writing notes and drawing pictures… on autopilot, but the plane several seconds away from blowing up in smoke.

Gently, Gomez set the book and pen in her lap and ran a hand through her hair. He looked deeply into her eyes.. his concern for his black angel, never fading… never _having_ faded.

"Tish, please… my darling, don't…" He half-smiled, quoting his wife. "Don't torture yourself." His brows furrowed, briefly in his part-explanation-part-plea. "You needed to sleep, querida. Your body couldn't take-"

"No." Morticia shook her head, her eyes enlarged. _"No."_

Gomez nodded, feeling an unrelenting sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. "You are a strong woman, mi encantadora." He took her hands, and kissed them. "And your strength just needed to… refuel." He attempted to explain.

"No, Gomez." Morticia shook her head again, and stood from the chair. "If I'm so strong, I could have made it through the night." She briefly looked down at the ring that adorned her ghost white finger… the black one, with the black diamonds… that her father had given her. She then looked back at her husband, her upset only growing. She began backing toward the shelves of magick books. _"I could have stayed awake, I could have found the answer; I failed him, Gomez!"_ Now, she was panicking. She ran a hand through her hair. _"Don't you_ understand _? What the_ hell _kind of a mother am I?"_

" _Do not say that."_ Gomez stood and took her hands, his eyes locked with hers. "You are a wonderful mother. The best mother to our children there could ever be." He pulled her closer. "You care about our children, me… _this family_ , _anyone you meet_ , and you care about them more than you ever even _think_ to care about yourself. You teach them how to be just as strong as you are, and you are _honest_ with them. Your patience is a wonder in itself; I have no idea how you manage to keep calm with _poison, arrows, and kitchen-knives_ narrowly missing your head all of the time!" He ran his thumb over one of her hands, and broke out into a hint of a smile.

A smile then graced Morticia's features, and she let out a soft laugh. "Not to mention the dynamite that's converted our attic to a seventh floor."

"That, too." Gomez laughed along with her, happy to have been able to make her smile. "Cara mia, _you are there_ for our children. You read them Edgar Allan Poe before bed, you sing them songs like The Moon, when they're upset; you talk to them about whatever it is they wish to discuss. And if you can't, you explain why. You spend time with them… you take them to the cemetery for our family picnics, or you go upstairs with them to the attic and show them how to properly use weaponry if they ask you to." He let go of one of her porcelain hands to caress her cheek. "And Pugsley? You are always vocalizing your praise for both of our children, including our son. Any time you see that boy in a suit, I watch those beautiful eyes of yours fill with loving pride for him." Gomez kissed the hand he held. "Mi hermosa diosa, _I know_ you love our children. _You know_ you love our children. You are not only their mother, but you are the best mother there is." He wrapped his arms around her waist, and smiled at her. "And you are doing everything you can, to get our son back." Gomez pressed against her. "Do not torture yourself because you need sleep, Tish. Every mother needs sleep; and the best is bound to."

Morticia's smile did not fade, as her husband's words touched her heart, melting it into a pool of love for him and her children… her entire family.

History would not set fire to everything they had built. No. History would not -not today, not ever- set the whole damn thing ablaze.

History would not even hold the match in its hand, for long.

"Merci, mon amour." Morticia wrapped her arms around his neck. "You don't know how much that means to me."

"Every word I said was true, mi encantadora." Gomez responded.

"I love you." Morticia's nails ran along the back of his neck.

"I love you, too." Gomez kissed her, pulling her closer to him, and devouring her entirely.

Morticia's lips parted, inviting his tongue to dance with her own. Sending shockwaves throughout her entire being were her husband's lips, tongue… teeth.

Teeth. Between their passionate kisses, Gomez's lips would trail from her jaw to her neck, biting her, sucking, leaving hickeys or teeth-marks in just that spot… there it was.

That tender spot on her neck from the blood he had drawn yesterday was being sensually consumed by her husband.

She moaned in ecstatic pleasure. _"Mmm… mon diable."_

" _Mi hermosa diosa…"_ Gomez growled into her neck.

Morticia couldn't explain it… the way it felt when he spoke and the music of his voice vibrated against her willingly surrendered flesh. It was… God, it was a feeling she couldn't go without for long before she began to experience the symptoms of a withdrawal.

" _Do it again."_ She begged.

Gomez smiled and continued to devour her neck. "Do what?"

" _That."_ Morticia's eyes momentarily shot open, needing reassurance that he wasn't going to torture her like this for long.

"Hmm?" Gomez gripped her hips.

"You know what- _ah, please._ " She felt her stomach tighten as Gomez nipped at the spot from yesterday, weakening her already unstable knees.

"You mean _this_?" Gomez kissed the spot he continually came back to, to bring his black angel to bleak paradise. "Mia bella dea… cuore mia…" He paused between his words for a fifth of a second, adoring to watch her wait for him to speak against her skin again. "Il battito del mio cuore… _tutta mia_ …" His accent thickened as he grew more impassioned, and his speech hastened; only breaking the beautiful flow of his words to shower her neck in roughly affectionate, biting kisses. "Mi hermosa diosa, la mia ragione de vita… tu, yo culto, mi querida…"

And how the two wished that was how it could have stayed exactly in that position… the world around them, nonexistent… breathlessly clinging to each other, kisses only broke by murmurs or phrases of undying love and adoration for one another.

But the magick room was filled with books.

….

It had been hours, and the short hand of the old, Victorian, gothic clock now rested at the number 4.

Everyone in the family (who had not been kidnapped) had been working since early morn.

Esmeralda's eyes widened at the text before her. Could it truly have been something… helpful?

Their luck had been terrible lately. Sure they were circling and attempting to make connections in the books they read… but truly, there had not been any.

Until now.

"Mother?" Wednesday asked from her position at the chair that hung from the ceiling.

"Yes, Wednesday?" Morticia looked up from the spell book that's pages she had been combing through to meet the eyes of her daughter.

"Why does the first page of this book have a wilted rose in it?" Wednesday questioned.

"I'm not sure, darling." Morticia replied, absently. "Just keep reading; perhaps you'll find something that will help your brother."

Wednesday continued reading, then stopped, abruptly and raised an eyebrow. "Not unless there's something Pugsley isn't telling us." She said.

This caused Morticia to look up at her daughter (despite the difficulty of the action, as only aching in her muscles proceeded).

"What do you mean, Wednesday?" She asked.

Wednesday sighed, inaudibly and began to read. "Your eyes burn with passion, my heart only beginning to beat due to your ecstatic gaze... _Prends-moi, mon extase_ -"

Morticia's eyes widened and she shared a slightly seductive and slightly embarrassed look with her husband, who stood behind her.

Before her daughter had a chance to speak, however, Máma chimed in. " _Alright_ , Wednesday. I don't know about _Thumper_ over there," She side-eyed her daughter. "But I've heard enough." She shook her head.

Morticia's eyes shifted and she resumed examining the spell book in her lap. "I don't know _how_ that ended up in here."

Gomez bent down by her ear and took her hand. "Tish… is that for me?" He asked, his tone like that of a dog, having just taken a peek at their fresh stash of treats and now, it was begging its master for one of them.

Morticia smirked. "Peut-etre." She replied.

Gomez kissed her hand. " _Thank you_ , my darling."

Morticia's eyes fluttered. "I didn't say it _was_." She paused. "But je t'en prie."

Gomez gave a soft chuckle and allowed his lips to roam to her inner wrist. "Gracias, cara mia. Te amo."

Wednesday rolled her eyes. "So _this book_ is going on the table." She picked up the book with two fingers and set it down on the table near the back wall, then heading to an untouched set of shelves to find another book to probe (that -she hoped- was not one of her parents love letters).

Morticia read the last few pages of the spell book she was reading, finding nothing helpful.

Discouraged but unbroken, she held the book out to her husband… or rather, her sore arm did. "Would you please hand me another book, mon cher? Try a shelf on the right wall."

Gomez quickly took the book from her and came back with another in less than five seconds.

He set the book down in her lap, then taking his place behind her small-backed armchair.

"Thank you, mon amour." Morticia opened the book, still sitting on the edge of her seat.

"Tish, is there anything else I can do to help?" Gomez inquired. "I can't stand to see you like this. There has to be something more I can do other than hand you books and bring you tea every couple of hours."

"Gomez, I-" Morticia thought for a moment, then, and loosened up a bit. "I have to admit, I'm terribly sore from sitting here and staying up… I think my body is catching up with me." She circled a phrase in her book. "You could help with that." Her tone was laced with seduction that she was unable to control.

If there was one thing she needed right now, out of all of the things she deeply adored about him and desired he do to her… it was for Gomez to put his hands on her the way in which she would allow only him to… that, would be the epidemy of dark bliss.

"And how could I help with that?" Gomez smirked, asking this question as if he didn't know.

"I believe a massage was promised." Morticia replied, referencing yesterday night…

 _I will do this as long as you'd like me to, querida._

 _I'll be back for more of this in an hour._

"When was this?" Gomez inquired, although he would more than willingly do whatever she asked of him.

And this was something he adored to do for her, because the two were very similar in this regard: she was the only one he would ever do this for; and he was the only one she ever allowed to touch her like this… to assist her in any way- but they both knew it wasn't the assistance, it was the sensualized touch… the connection… everything Morticia didn't allow from anyone else, she allowed and desperately desired from him.

"Yesterday, in our bedroom." Morticia told him. _"You were begging me to stay-"_

Máma cleared her throat.

The lovers paid her little mind, however.

Gomez smiled. "Of course, querida. I will do anything for you." He pressed against her chair and began massaging her back.

Morticia then got comfortable -for the first time since- _for the first time_ \- in her chair. "Ah…" She sighed, blissfully. "You should do this more often."

Gomez laughed. "I don't do this enough?"

Morticia raised an eyebrow, and shifted her eyes back to her book. "Je ne peux pas parler; je lis."

" _Mmm_ , isn't _that_ convenient?" Gomez chuckled and continued to ease her muscles' strain.

Esmeralda studied the words in the spell book in her lap.

 _The enemy of thy enemy is thy friend. The direction of Hell may make you pray for the innocent sins of the taken one; still, gazing into the blinding blaze will lead you toward your goal that is not salvation._

 _Face the inferno._

She wasn't sure when her spell books made an overnight transition from ancient, page-filled, magickal artifacts to fortune cookies; but she was sure that she needed to look down.

At least, that was what she had gotten out of it.

Instantly, she discontinued reading the book-turned-fortune-cookie in her lap and panned her eyes in front of her, downward… a book.

A book that had fallen on the floor. Its pages were scattered about, and one covered most of the title. But it was in Latin… and she could barely see the what the cover read.

If only she could move one page- _Thing_.

She side-eyed Thing -whom was pouring over the pages over an ancient book (it must have been at least three hundred-years-old), in the corner of the room- and gestured for him to come over and remove the page.

Never one to disappoint, and figuring the book must be an important one, indeed, Thing crawled over to the book and removed the page… but upon reading the book's title, he made the connection- the page was one that had been ripped out of the book. And there were several others, connected to it… lying about.

Leaving Esmeralda to read the title for herself, Thing began collecting the missing pages of the battered book; eager to connect them. As this book… it had to do with saving _the taken one_.

Sanguis Paets, Sanguinis Verissimus

Esmeralda could not believe her eyes. Yes, the book was in Latin but she and her daughter were fluent in it (she, when she was lucid; her daughter, always).

But her strike of fortune was… it was unbelievable.

She picked up the book, ditching the old one and setting Sanguis Paets, Sanguinis Verissimus on her lap.

She blinked, twice.

The book she held… it translated in English, to _Blood Pacts, Blood Facts_.

She was then handed several pages of Blood Pacts, Blood Facts, by Thing and grimaced.

The pages were all out of order; every single one of them.

"Come on, Thing." Esmeralda stood, the book and its missing pages in her hands. "Let's get this damn… thing, in order."

She sighed at her inadvertent pun and allowed Thing to hitch a ride on the book she held while she walked over to the table near the back wall, then beginning to reorganize Sanguis Paets, Sanguinis Verissimus.

" _Gomez…"_ Morticia's eyes closed, momentarily as her husband's hands moved to her shoulders. "Mmm… merci, mon coeur."

"Mi amore, it's the least I can do." Gomez smiled. "Besides which, I adore doing it." He told her, then kissing her cheek. "Not as much as I adore you."

" _Mon amour…"_ Morticia flipped the page in her spell book, rolling her head back a bit. _"Je t'adore…"_ She moaned and circled a sentence in her spell book.

" _Te adoro, mi encantadora…"_ Gomez squeezed her shoulders.

"You could bring me to my knees with this." She remarked, rereading a phrase she had just realized was written in Romanian.

Gomez chuckled and shook his head. _"Noted."_ He said, planning to save this piece of information for a game he was slowly inventing.

Just then, Thing hopped up onto Morticia's spell book and began hopping about, spasmodically.

"Thing, old man!" Gomez heartily greeted the hand. "What is it?"

Thing pointed to Esmeralda, whom was walking toward her daughter, book -complete with its no longer missing pages- in hand.

"Morticia?" Esmeralda reached her daughter and switched books with her before Morticia had time to breathe, let alone ask why. "There's something you need to see."

Morticia raised an eyebrow and looked down at the book in her lap.

Sanguis Paets, Sanguinis Verissimus

Morticia shook her head and looked back up at her mother. _"Where did you find this?"_ Her voice was little more than a whisper.

 _This._ This… this book. This wonderful, beautiful, magick book that was… it was the answer.

Goddamit; it was the answer.

"On the floor. Thing and I put the pages back into it." Máma's face lit up at the idea in her head. "I think… Morticia, I think it's our answer."

Wednesday's ears opened up at her grandmother's words, and she ran to her other family members (somehow, Lurch was already there…), taking her place next to her mother's chair.

Morticia used an elegant hand to cover her mouth, and hold back tears.

 _Blood Pacts, Blood Facts._

It was the answer.

She held out her hand for her husband to take, and once he did… she opened the book.

She carefully studied the words before her and lifted her pen, prepared to translate the bloody text.

 _Mensam de Contentis In Eodem:_

 _Sanguis Paets pars I: Circa….. XIII_

 _Sanguis Paets-_

Immediately upon reading the first item under the Table of Contents, Morticia flipped the pages until she found page thirteen, and her eyes widened as she began to translate the words before her.

 _In nigrum es de Sanguinem Paets…_ _semper autem necesse erit, cum tam evigilatam signans in punctae._ _Ad effundendum_ _de eorum sanguine suo erit ad ducit_ _informitas et damnum, de eadem._

Morticia wrote the last of her English notes above the Latin text… and then, it was done.

She had decoded the paragraph that she prayed would save her son.

She scanned the anxious faces of her family members, whom anticipated her words with bated breath.

She squeezed her husband's hand, cleared her throat… and began to read aloud to them. "In the black art of blood pacts…" Morticia read. "one must be ever-so cautious when signing on the dotted. For the spilling of their own blood will thus lead to the lifelessness and loss, _of the very same_." She looked back at her family after reading… very sure of the meaning of the text.

But wishing she wasn't.

"Why is every damn book in this room suddenly a fortune cookie?" Esmeralda questioned, irritatedly stomping her foot.

Wednesday took a short breath. "Do you know what it means?"

Morticia gave her daughter a solemn nod. "It's a warning that came too late, for us." She sighed. "One should proceed with caution if they're truly going to sign a blood pact. As since blood has been spilled, it seals fate that it will be spilled again."

Gomez came 'round to the other side of her chair, her hand still tight in the affectionate and now… afraid, grasp of his own.

"In other words," Morticia continued. "When a blood pact is signed… death will always follow."

"Blood for blood." Esmeralda muttered. Her eyes then looked the saddest and most concerned they had ever been. "Pugsley."

Morticia shook her head. _"No."_ She replied, her anger for Regina, prominent in her voice. " _Absolutely not._ They _will not have_ Pugsley." She swallowed, hard… her eyes, leveling in vehement rage and scorn as if Regina were directly in front of her. Despite this… her voice was still, mainly… chillingly, even. "That woman wants blood? _I'll give her blood._ But the blood that's spilled, _so help me_ … will not be Pugsley's." She shut the book. _"It's going to be hers."_

Gomez kissed her hand. "Damn right it is."

Esmeralda smiled.

She had never been prouder of her daughter.

"Demon bat messed with the wrong witch." She took a step closer to her.

"Not quite." Morticia replied. _"She took the son from the_ wrong mother

Something in her eyes… eyes… Wednesday's eyes… her eyes… _their_ eyes; it was… determined. Dangerously, determined.

And for the first time in a long time, looking into her mother's eyes… the uneasiness was gone. And for the first time in a day and a night… the chill wasn't there.

Gomez stood -his wife never ceasing to amaze him- tall next to her. " _Ms. Blood_ is about to receive a taste of her own."

At this… Wednesday's eyes smiled. Regina's suffering was a black parade she was willing to attend. Attend? Hell, she would do much better than attend. She would dawn her mock mourning attire, grab clanging, midnight-coloured symbols and march through the streets… red rain pouring down her pale features. Her pale, revenged… victorious features.

"Sic Gorgiamus Allos Subjectatos Nunc." Gomez recited, proudly.

" _Sic Gorgiamus Allos Subjectatos Nunc."_ The entire family repeated, in unison.

They stayed there, in silence for a minute or so… in encouraged awe at the first portion of their plan (which -ironically enough- was set to be the last.

But regardless of which act of the show came first or last, one thing was now set in stone (It had to be, or there was no chance in Hell at their boy's return.)… it would end in Regina's undoing. The only roses that would be thrown onto the stage of their rescue and revenge would be crimson. It would end… in Regina's blood.

The director called History had proved itself experienced at torturing and killing off its actors, actresses, writers… stage crew and even vandalizing its own props.

Now, the director called History was forced into a chair, tied up and subdued (as they never should have been). It was so well-versed at murder, now it was time to reverse the roles of everyone in its show (that they never asked to take part in, to begin with). Now it was time for History to pay its dues and aid instead of ail.

Now it was time for History to destroy its own self-portrait.

Morticia went back to the table of contents, figuring if she had found one answer… perhaps she could find another.

She could. She did.

Sanguinis Paets pars V: Historia….. CXXXIII

She flipped to page one-hundred-thirty-three of the book as fast as she possibly could.

 _Sanguinis Paets, olim -quis ante hoc legere hodie quam unquam hactenus excogitatum est… cum retro terrae erat paulo ultra quam_ _unum festucam videbas, in galaxia- creata est erant per qui illis libidine_ _pro eo maxime, tamquam iter captarent eorum vita-repleti victimae; tum_ _Suscipiens illos ad unum locus in quo eorum sanguine suo enātus…_

And there it was. There was the second answer.

At least, it was if Morticia could figure out the last piece of the message.

"Is there more?" Wednesday inquired, seeing her mother having finished translating again.

Morticia nodded.

"Well, what does it say?" Máma asked, growing impatient.

Morticia raised her eyebrow at her mother, then began to read. "Blood pacts, long ago -before anyone reading this today had ever been thought of… back when the earth was a little more than a spec in the galaxy- were created by those who lust for it most, as a way to ensnare their life-filled victims; then taking them to the one place where _their own blood_ originated…" She read.

Wednesday was expressionless as she thought. "So, vampires created blood pacts?"

"Yes." Morticia replied. "I've been trying to figure out where they… took Pugsley." She explained. Then, she looked up at her husband. "Gomez?"

"Yes?" Gomez responded.

"It says they take their victims to the one place where their own blood originated." Morticia reiterated. "Now, I am going to ask you something to confirm my suspicions about where they've taken our son. _It is crucial_ that you remember this piece of information." She told him, taking his hand. "Where is Regina from?"

Gomez's eyes widened.

 _I won't allow you to carry the weight of two worlds on your shoulders._

"She's from the vampire realm." He said.

"That's what I thought." Morticia shut the book, now speaking to every member of her family. "She's taken our son to the vampire realm."

"Well," Esmeralda's aged hand took the pale, porcelain hand of her daughter (the one that was not held by Gomez). "Let's get him back."

Morticia smiled and clasped the hands that held hers, tightly. She looked into her mother's icy, blue eyes. _"Let's."_

Thing raised… himself, breaking the flow of the moment with his question.

"Yes, Thing?" Gomez drew a cigar to smoke from his breast pocket.

Thing signed.

" _How?"_ Gomez took a puff of his cigar.

Thing gave a thumb up.

"I… don't know." Gomez replied, turning to Morticia. "How are we going to get there?" He paused. "The question comes from Thing."

Morticia laughed, the passionate fire that burned for him in her eyes… never fading. Never.

"A portal." She told him. "However, I feel this is more Máma's forte." She added, releasing her mother's hand and facing her, indicating she should take the lead from here.

"Oh!" Esmeralda appeared thrilled at this point. "Of course, yes." She straightened up and addressed her family. "Morticia's right; it takes a portal. But… we don't have a spell to create it so we'll have to make our own."

"More books?" Wednesday asked, dejected.

Esmeralda piffed. " _Please_ , dear. I wouldn't sit through another round of spell book translations if we had another option." She grinned. "And we do."

Wednesday would have jumped if she were the sort of girl that… jumped. _"Really?"_

Esmeralda nodded and began to walk toward the center of the room. "Children, hands, butlers and anyone who becomes mildly pissed off when I don't knock on doors: please, _follow me_!" She waved a hand.

Gomez and Morticia shared a chuckle and linked arms, walking with their butler, Thing and daughter to join Esmeralda, who now stood over a large, black, bubbling cauldron.

"Alright!" Máma clapped her hands to call attention. "We're about to make some magick happen."

….

"Now," Esmeralda eyed her family members. "I can get every ingredient for the potion to create the spell except for one- _yes_?" She asked when Wednesday raised her hand.

Wednesday's voice was as monotone as usual when she spoke. "So, just to reiterate: we're making a potion to create the spell to create the portal?"

"It's _magick_ , Wednesday. It isn't opening a case of dynamite." Esmeralda snapped her teeth. "It's going to be complicated… sometimes _overcomplicated_ , like right now." She cocked her head, then shook it and continued speaking. "As I was saying, I can get every ingredient for the potion except one." She said. "We need vampire DNA."

Morticia's eyes enlarged. "And I know _just_ where to get it."

"Great!" Máma enthusiastically clapped her hands exactly once. "Where?" She inquired.

"Oh… you'll see." Morticia replied, then turning to her daughter. "Wednesday, you're the perfect person to help me get it. Would you mind accompanying me to _the front yard_ , please?"

Wednesday nodded. "Of course, mother."

"Thank you, darling." Morticia replied. She embraced her husband then, and kissed him, passionately. "I'll be back soon, mon amour."

Gomez placed his hands on her hips, and pressed closer to her. "I can come, cara mia."

"No, you can't. I'm taking Wednesday." Morticia smirked and played with his tie. "I'll be back in your arms in a few minutes."

"Minutes?" Gomez rocked a bit as he held her. "You're killing me, Tish."

"Je suis au courant." Morticia replied and craned her neck.

" _Mmm_ , do you want something?" Gomez questioned, smirking.

"Oui." Morticia answered, saucily.

"What do we say?" Gomez teased.

" _Maintenant."_ Morticia roughly pulled him in closer.

" _Eres divina…"_ Gomez growled and went after her neck, leaving a trail of fervent kisses down her snow white flesh, then feeding his desperation to make another mark over the one that had just begun to heal.

A tired Esmeralda cleared her throat. "We're making a potion, not a por-"

" _Máma."_ Morticia scolded her and gestured to her young daughter.

" _Smoothie."_ Esmeralda quickly rephrased, pulling the word out of the sky. "We're making a potion, not a smoothie."

Wednesday simply sighed and walked over to her mother. "Mother, we have to go out to the front yard."

Morticia broke the kiss she had been heatedly involved in with her husband and looked at her daughter. "Of course, dear."

" _Now."_ Wednesday pressed.

Gomez ran his thumb over his black angel's cheek and smiled. "She is _definitely_ your daughter." He laughed.

"Was it ever called into question?" Morticia asked.

"Not for a second." Gomez replied, and kissed her once again.

"I have to go." Morticia reluctantly pulled away and side-eyed her daughter. _"Now."_

"Your absence will break me; but, I understand." Gomez responded, a touch of charisma in his tone )which was not unusual). "Te amo, mi encantadora."

"Je t'aime, mon coeur." Morticia let her lips lock with his a final time before she parted with him, then leaving with her daughter to find vampire DNA in the front yard.

"Alright, as for the rest of you…" Esmeralda pointed at Gomez, Thing and Lurch. "You're all going to help me begin working on this potion." Her eyes landed on her son-in-law. "Gomez, I need you to find me tropical Lizards' eyes -but make sure they aren't stale-, white rhinoceros horn, black moth's blood and the tears of a clown."

"That poor clown." Lurch groaned, under his breath and shook his head.

"And where will I find these things?" Gomez queried.

"Left wall, fifth shelf, top right." Máma replied, absently.

Once Gomez was off with his mental list of ingredients, Máma pointed her long fingers at Lurch and Thing.

"Lurch? I need you to get me _six-and-a-half_ tarantula legs, a cup of the _really dark red_ stuff -but don't drink it, it might be poison. Well, it's either that or booze- _nope_. Nope, that last time when the mailman was here…" Esmeralda's voice trailed off and she waved dismissive hands. _"It's definitely poison."_ She decided, then continued with her list of ingredients for Lurch to find. "Brown bat's wing, black bat's wing… and- no, scratch the brown bat's wing. Two shrunken heads - _not_ the human ones, I made that mistake last time…- and ash grey smoke; just bring the whole jar."

Lurch's head was spinning with a boatload of information and ingredients that he was having trouble categorizing, processing… he had so many questions!

For the first time in his life, Lurch stuttered. "But, wh-"

"Right wall, second shelf, bottom corner." Esmeralda pointed a commanding finger at the right wall that told him to go get what she needed.

So, shaking his head and groaning… he began walking toward the right wall.

"Now, Thing." Máma smiled. "Your list is pretty easy. I just need everything on the top shelf on the right wall. The entire top shelf."

Thing signed.

" _Yes_ , everything." Máma confirmed. " _Now_ , off you go. We're burning daylight!" She clapped her hands.

"Now, you, Esmeralda…" She said to herself. "Are tasked with a duty of the upmost importance: prepping the cauldron and taking advantage of your family members." She laughed and began fussing over her cauldron, pouring in different thick (occasionally thin), dark coloured, bubbling liquids, and muttering different Latin phrases.

Gomez balanced on the silver, rusty ladder he had found and picked up a small cup, crudely labeled:

Tropical Lizards' Eyes (NOT STALE… I think.).

"How does this work, exactly?" He asked.

"Here's hoping it works. I usually just wing it." Esmeralda replied, honestly.

Just then, the doors burst open.

In walked Morticia and Wednesday, struggling to but still carrying an extremely frightened and half-dead young boy.

"Morticia?" Esmeralda ran over to her daughter and granddaughter. _"What on Earth are you doing?"_

"Getting you your vampire DNA." Morticia replied and tossed the young boy to her mother.

"Who _is_ this boy?" Máma questioned.

"This is the young boy who betrayed me under the false identity of _Robert_ just a night ago." Morticia stared, coldly at him. "This, _is the paperboy_."

Máma angrily eyed the young boy. "So, _you're_ the reason those demons with wings were able to kidnap my grandson, aye?"

The paperboy gulped with what little strength he had. "I… they sucked my blood, I-"

"Great!" Máma inadvertently swung the paperboy like a ragdoll. Seriously, then, she met the eyes of her daughter. "Does he have any family?"

"Not that we've been informed of." Morticia said.

"That's good enough for me!" Esmeralda exclaimed and dragged the paperboy over to the cauldron.

"Gomez?" Morticia called to her husband, whom had now gathered all of the ingredients from his mental list and placed them on a stand next to one of the armchairs.

"Querida, you're back!" Gomez smiled, ecstatic to see her again.

Minutes were years with the lovers… they always had been.

"Oui, mon amour. And I'm all yours." She practically ran to him and he scooped her up in his arms, planting affectionate kisses anywhere he could.

" _God, I missed you."_ Gomez groaned, and ran his hands through her hair.

"And I you, _mon diable_." Morticia dug her nails into his neck and kissed him. "We need a favour." She said.

"Of course! What can I do?" Gomez asked her.

"We need a chair moved near the cauldron so that we can sit the paperboy down and extract the vampire DNA from the bite on his neck." Morticia explained; realizing how… interesting, her statement sounded.

Gomez squeezed her hips, and locked lips with her once more. "Is that all?"

Within seconds of his wife's request, Gomez had moved a chair next to Máma's cauldron and within minutes, the family was crowded around it… all of the ingredients having successfully been added to it.

All of them… except for one.

Máma took a cotton swab out from under a shelf and blew the dust off of it, then walked toward the paperboy (whom Lurch held still).

Máma nearly snapped the paperboy's neck in craning it to the side so much, but she finally saw the bite.

And the tiniest hint of saliva left at the end of it.

"This is a very delicate procedure…" Esmeralda informed her family as she took the swab to his neck.

Then, she forcefully jabbed it into the bite, eliciting a sharp cry of pain from the paperboy.

Esmeralda just rolled her eyes and removed the swab, smiling… she had just successfully collected the vampire DNA; and damaged the boy whom wronged her grandson and daughter (her entire family, really).

" _Alright!_ I need total silence!" Esmeralda clapped her hands and stood over the cauldron, waving her hands over it and beginning to speak. "Spiritibus, ego quaeritur te venire super hanc familiam iudicio sanguinum et ... et tergens ingrata In nobis auxilium plebis iniurias defendere inimicos nostros. _Cieore corea est, aer e mi nia vae_!"

At the last words spoken by the old witch, the air in the room changed… it seemed to, pick up speed (although there was nothing moving though it). Or perhaps that was just their quickly-beating hearts?

Nothing happened.

Esmeralda groaned, in anger and kicked the cauldron.

And just like that (as if her action… had something to do with it), everything in the cauldron began to swirl and pick up speed. A black and grey mist was created within and around the cauldron, swirling and turning everything but the black, magick pot itself into a scroll.

The scroll was in Latin, as well… but Esmeralda knew by the writing at the top, _Exponentia aperire portal ad Vampire Realm_ …

It was their second answer.

Esmeralda smiled. "Well, get dressed for battle." She ordered her family. "We're headed to the vampire realm."

Wednesday, Lurch and Thing all did as instructed and exited the magick room to get dressed to kill.

Gomez raised an eyebrow when he saw that Morticia made no attempt at leaving.

"I have to stay behind and talk to Máma." Morticia paused and met his eyes, a seductive smirk playing at her lips. "I'll meet you upstairs, mon amour." She told him, wrapping her arms around his neck. "You can help me tie my corset."

" _Oh, Tish…"_ Gomez's hands moved to her waist in an instant and he drew her close to him. "I'll be waiting, mi hermosa diosa." He whispered.

This sent electrifying shivers down Morticia's spine. "You wouldn't have to if I went with you right now." The words slipped out, it was uncontrollable. She blinked, needing to regain momentary control of herself. "But I can't." She caressed his cheek. "You don't know _how_ I desire to."

Gomez kissed her hand. " _I love you_ , Tish."

" _I love you too_ , Gomez." Morticia kissed him.

And then he left the magick room.

"What was that?" Máma questioned, her voice causing her daughter to turn and face her. "Is everything alright?"

"Between Gomez and I, yes." Morticia replied. She then grew very serious… gravely, serious. "I closed that book, but I marked the page that worried me most. I couldn't say anything because I wanted to ask you and make sure I was correct."

"What are you saying?" Máma raised an eyebrow.

Morticia sighed and directed her mother toward the book she had set down. As they walked, she responded with her own question. "Máma? Can I see you for a moment?"

…..

 _Shock, spark… fire-hot destruction._

The once shiny, red apple (now darkened immensely to the point of near blackness), was once again electrocuted in the chair, much too large for it.

Wednesday sighed in boredom.

She had not wished to accompany the family out to the spot where that bat had taken her brother. She had not wished to help them pick the perfect area in the gazebo to open the portal. She had not wished to set foot on the sorrowed ground of her failure if she did not have to.

So, she didn't. And she blamed her disinterest on fatigue.

Wednesday was no coward, she faced her fears and her faults.

But she could not face the absence of her brother.

 _Shock, spark… fire-hot destruction._

Her eyes did not light up at the damage she had inflicted upon the apple. They simply sat… disguised, dark orbs of mystery doing nothing but wait for a masochistic ending that would never come… without him.

 _Shock, spark_ \- stop.

Slowly, her head… her eyes, and soon, her entire being… moved to that spot on the attic wall.

That spot where the picture of she and her brother hung; that one-of-a-kind, memorable, sibling-oriented… proud picture of Wednesday, the first witch and Pugsley… little table number one.

She remembered everything that had to do with that picture and then some.

The times when she and her brother would sneak around backstage and rearrange everything, or when Pugsley would stick his foot out from under the sheet he wore and trip the main characters, or when they would go into the storage room and put let loose live tarantulas or shove boa constrictors into the backpacks of unsuspecting popular girls who couldn't get off the high, white horse they always rode… or switch roles during dress rehearsals and see how long it took for their teachers to notice.

But that night, the night of their play… it had been one of the best nights of their lives.

Wednesday's performance frightened everyone in the audience from newborn babies to elderly grandmothers… to _her own_ grandmother. She had even made a few children cry.

Pugsley… had been the best table number one to ever grace the stage of Macbeth. He gave an element of mysterious charisma to that table that no one had ever seen before. Occasionally, it would move at will. Other times, it would sneeze or _boo!_ at the most crucial plot elements… and both everyone and no one knew of where the strange noises were originating.

And… after the show, they had gone -in full costume- to meet back with their family, ecstatic at the way things had gone. They received thorns, wilted roses, hugs and another round of thunderous applause and endless praise.

And then the picture was taken.

The picture of she and her brother; that one-of-a-kind, memorable, sibling-oriented… proud picture of Wednesday, the first witch and Pugsley… little table number one.

Wednesday felt a pang in her heart. A terrible… aching pang.

She hated to admit it… didn't she? But she realized now as she shocked the piece of fruit that… she missed him. And more than anything, she would rather have been electrocuting him than that damned red delicious in the corner.

But that damned red delicious was all she had right now.

 _If one were to vanish… the other would be just as lost._

She grimaced… her father had been right about the two of them.

They couldn't be separated.

And yet, they were. And now, she was here… taking her boredom- her _loneliness_ , out on a piece of fruit that wasn't even sentient.

" _Wednesday!"_ She heard her mother's voice call.

She always did wonder how her voice could do that… carry so far, for being so soft.

" _Wednesday!"_ Morticia called again.

Wednesday ran to the steps which lead into the attic -unwilling to see if her voice could carry like that of her mother's- and held onto the railing. _"Yes, mother?"_ She called back.

" _We're opening the portal, darling!"_ Morticia's voice told her. _"We'll wait for you by the back entrance!"_

Wednesday nodded. _"Coming, mother!"_

She began to walk down the stairs, but stopped herself.

She cast one last glance at the picture of she and her brother, that would forever hang on the attic wall… then turned back, and proceeded to descend down the attic stairs.

….

Tears from the sky fell in a drizzle… bouncing off of the stepping stones and falling into the pond under the gazebo, causing ripples in the water.

Grey clouds had rolled in hours prior… intentionally setting the scene for the witches and their family members… intentionally dawning their spiritual battle attire; the best they could do to fight alongside their mother of darkness… to fight for her son.

Máma -scroll in hand- was to stand beside her daughter under the gazebo and recite the spell, while Wednesday and Gomez stood behind them (the presence of Lurch and Thing would have been most appreciated, but to the witches' dismay… they had found the portal only let through five, and bringing Pugsley back…).

She cleared her throat.

That did nothing.

Gomez wrapped his arms around his encantadora from behind, and she melted into him, allowing the heat of his body to envelope her.

Morticia sighed, placing her hand's atop her amour's. "Gomez… it's our place…"

Gomez smiled. "Whenever we need to be alone… without any chance of interruption…"

"It's so enchanting out here." Morticia remarked, romantically.

Gomez's lips met her neck. "Tish… no moonlit lake, no gazebo surrounded by a thousand torches… could ever be as captivating as you, _mi hermosa diosa_." His hands moved, sensually, against her sides. _"You're more enchanting than the moon, itself, cara mia."_

"Mmm… _merci, mon amour. Je t'adore._ " Morticia purred, nuzzling her head in his neck.

Máma cleared her throat once more. "Alright! If Thumper would pull the breaks on mating season for a minute or two, perhaps we could open the portal."

Morticia sighed, contented when Gomez kissed her cheek.

"I have a spell to recite." Morticia said, unintentionally drawing out her words.

"And recite it, you will. You'll read marvelously." Gomez replied.

"Thank you, mon cher." Morticia kissed him again.

Then, Gomez watched her as she walked to stand by her mother.

Wednesday and her father took their places behind her mother and grandmother… and silenced themselves, as they began to read.

" _Red, stained the glass as it swished about,_

 _It never made noise despite all her efforts,_

 _The gurgling came not from the blood in the glass, nor from the blood that stained her broken heart,_

 _It came not from the wine -or whatever was left of it-_

 _It came not from her stomach (The life inside it… was it, still?)_

 _Not from her,_

 _For she was silent._

 _Rather, the bellowing, demonic noise was merely a deluded form of mockery_

 _Coming from the woman whom possessed the sharpness within her, necessary to kill… shocking to say it was not her drunkard husband,_

 _But rather, it was her own blood-tie._

 _Sucking the blood of her own, draining it… the first sacrifice._

 _She never thought that her sister would ever satisfy her lust for the crimson liquid._

 _She hadn't._

 _However, she had deepened it,_

 _Deepened the vampire's depravity away from darkness, and into madness…_

 _The masochistic devastation left in the queen's wake each time she killed,_

 _Sent chills down her spine,_

 _The sacrificial lamb, mortal blood… her own blood sucked to better herself,_

 _Was equivalent to orgasm._

 _At that moment, she knew her soul had disappeared._

 _She did not kill to revive herself,_

 _But rather, she seduced, she murdered to remind herself,_

 _That her blood was still pumping through her veins of ice._

 _To remind herself that blood ties, blood lies._

 _That was how it started._

 _The token you must end on,_

 _Shall either be used or flipped,_

 _He who chooses wisely, perhaps doth not chose at all._

 _Spiritibus, et veni et crea hoc portal,_

 _Ad Vampire Realm,_

 _Et adjuva nos retrieve quod capta est unus."_

Silence.

Cold. Bloody. Silence.

Morticia stayed put, but could feel her husband's presence behind her… and relief washed over her when she felt him take her hand.

All waited, unspeaking… seldom even breathing, for the portal to appear; or for a sign of it.

They waited for what felt like hours, but in actuality was merely seconds.

And then it opened.

And as it did, the clouds' atmospheric tears began to produce louder, and more rapidly… the clouds bellowed, and blinked purple… bidding goodbye to their mother of darkness, and the family they would fight forever fight for… fight _with_.

The portal was a large, swirling, gaping, black and red, smoke-filled hole that seemed to lead to nowhere. But that, was not the case.

The family joined hands, and just as they were about to step through it- Gomez spoke.

"Tish?" He asked, holding her hand as tightly as possible.

"Yes?" Morticia responded.

"What are they doing to him?" Gomez swallowed, hard. "What are they doing to Pugsley?"

Morticia grew gravely serious when she spoke her next sentence. Serious and… there was that anger for Regina once again. "They're preparing him."

"For what?" Gomez questioned, afraid of the answer.

Morticia remained stoic as they stepped into the portal, but she broke inside… and she looked deeply into her husband's eyes. "A blood sacrifice."

….

Blackness… that was all he had seen for what felt like one hundred years, to the young boy. However, it had only been a day.

His body ached… but even if he wished to, he could barely move.

As he slowly regained consciousness… he felt leather straps tied around his wrists and ankles.

He looked around… but his vision was blurred… so, very blurred.

"Regina?" He heard a light, slightly psychotic voice ask.

"Yes?" It was _her_ voice that responded.

 _Ms. Blood._

The same voice which called Regina's attention continued to speak to her.

Her next sentence sent only slightly controlled shivers down the Regina's spine.

" _He's awake."_


	9. Deception

Chapter 8: Deception

His eyes had opened.

His vision became less blurred, and now… he could see throughout the room in which he was now held prisoner.

His feet were suspended in air… his wrists and ankles were bound to a… what was it? A dark-coloured something… connected to the wall.

He was completely disheveled.

He wore only his white, tuxedo undershirt and his now ripped, black suit-pants… and of course, his shoes.

Didn't he?

He looked down as much as he could to check.

He did.

The room he was held in was enormous… even larger than the ballroom at home. Ballroom… it looked like a ballroom. Only, it was very secluded with no windows to the outside realm.

It looked like a mix of Dracula's daughter's castle ballroom, with no furnishings but what the young boy was tied down to.

The walls were porcelain, and darkly elegant with absolutely no pictures, weaponry… nothing, lining them. They shined like rubies… if the rubies were about three hundred years old.

The floor, too, was porcelain… but it did not shine. It, too, was dark-coloured with tinges of midnight. But it did not shine. Nor did it glisten or sparkle… it merely sat. It was simply, there.

As were the several bloodstains.

The stains were old, and looked like evidence of a crime scene. There were stains in pools… whatever it was that's blood had been spilt, had been left to bleed out, to die in unrelenting anguish (little did the young boy know… it was far worse than that). And there were stains in streaks. Streaks… whatever it was that had bled so much, had struggled against its tormentors… had struggled, fought against death.

It lost.

But from the stains on the floor… one could tell that it never gave up.

However, it was not the stains that widened the boy's eyes with fear.

Rather, it was the hoard of vampires (there had to be at least one hundred of them), packed into the room like bats in a cave, and standing before Ms. Blood… but staring at him, with hungry eyes.

They cheered when he flinched.

He was awake.

The tongues of the human bats ran over their teeth… there were murmurs of excited anticipation and hisses of desperation… of lust for what lie under the young boy's flesh.

The pale (paler than his own mother), licentious hands reached out to him… and there were moans from the ravenous hoard.

" _Give him to us!"_ A voice called.

"Regina _, this will be our best yet!"_ Another voice practically breathed out.

"Mmm _… I can smell it from where I stand."_ It was as though being in the mere presence of the boy's -for now- protected blood was enough to bring the other voice to orgasm.

" _Regina,_ give him to us

The woman whom the voice addressed smirked, but said nothing.

She adored to get them riled up… especially like this.

Five steps lead up to where Regina stood before Pugsley.

Five steps, which six of the vampires pushed through the mass of their own kind to climb.

They did, and they each lunged for a different part of Pugsley's body.

They caressed his arms and legs… walking their long fingers over them, desperate to feel the creature they would soon consume.

They touched him, and they allowed their mouths to clasp his visible veins (on his neck, or wrists)… unable to get enough, desperate for pain, desperate for disaster, desperate for ashen obliteration… desperate for blood.

His blood. Pugsley's blood.

" _Hold still… try not to stabilize your breathing."_ One of the vampires commanded, running her hot, wet tongue over the flesh that held his veins and blood.

And, oh, what irony! The only thing keeping him alive, was the thing that would surely kill him.

Regina held up a commanding hand.

She had dawned new clothing… readied herself for the event.

She wore a tight dress that swept the floor. It had a crease in it, up to her uncovered, right mid-thigh. It was low-cut in the most dramatic sweetheart neckline she had worn since… the last time. The dress was black and blood red, with long sleeves and a gothic, heavily decorated (with black diamonds and rubies), collar connected to the back of it.

Her shoes were black, open toed high heels with sharpened, silver spikes on the back.

Her makeup was the same as it always was, and her nails were painted ruby… her toenails, painted black. Her hair was loosely curled.

Her fingers were decorated with five gothic rings, and she wore a black, gothic choker with black chains, and rubies dangling from it. Her earrings were long, and shaped like black, silver-spiked crosses.

Despite the hand she held up, the silent command went unnoticed.

" _Wait!"_ She ordered. " _We mustn't hurry_ … I busted my ass to achieve this."

Some of the vampires listened, but most of them continued their heated imagery session of what it would be like to be one of the vampires, lucky enough to receive a preview of their meal.

" _Silence!"_ Regina hissed.

Every single vampire stopped what they were doing and looked up at her, anticipating her words.

Her words. Her words, which she had better have chosen carefully.

She did.

"The boy's blood can't be drawn until the night of the blood moon… in two days." Regina reminded them.

" _Of course."_ Nerine, a short, stick thin vampire with dark blonde, curly hair grinned and looked into Pugsley's eyes. "Of course." She ran her hands through his hair, her face so… very close to Pugsley's own. _"You'll taste_ much better _then."_ Nerine whispered, and nipped the air.

" _Just_ a taste of it _, Regina!"_ Pugsley remembered the voice of this one… slightly crazed… wild…

Regina smiled, that smile… that slightly- _wicked_ , smile. _Her_ smile. " _No_ , Desponia."

Desponia was her name.

She was tall… nearly as tall as Regina, and her eyes were a bit brighter red… madder, red, than Regina's were. She was skinny, and her hair was black, long and wavy.

Desponia climbed up the stairs, and lunged at Regina with no small amount of sexuality. She grasped Regina's wrist and placed her mouth against her neck.

" _Well,"_ She growled against her skin. "what are we supposed to drink in the meantime?"

Regina groaned. "I've quite the stash of animals and humans alike, _upstairs_."

"Of course it's upstairs." Desponia narrowed her eyes, sensually and licked Regina's neck. "It's always upstairs."

"I'll send Tacito for a bit of it… later." Regina breathed.

"Why can't you send me for it?" Desponia asked, pulling Regina closer and nipping her fingers.

" _Because,"_ Regina pulled away, then. "You'd take it all for yourself."

Desponia grimaced and walked over to Pugsley, spider-walking her fingers over his neck.

She briefly snapped her head back toward Regina and raised an eyebrow. "And you wouldn't?"

Regina laughed, somewhat… maleficently. "Not this time, dear."

Pugsley gulped, afraid… but his terror forced him to remained still. Still, and speechless.

Hands (whose they were, he was unaware) began to unbutton his shirt, while noses took in his scent and tongues licked his chest… or his neck.

The vampires (whether up and violating the young boy or before the stairs, wishing they were) began to sensually feed off of one another… sucking necks, and drawing the smallest amounts of blood, unable to resist.

Pugsley just felt fortunate that the blood that was being drawn in this ruby-coloured, hedonistic fashion was not his. Not yet.

Between the vampires who clawed at him, desperate for a taste… he peered into the hoard.

And there he spotted her.

His infatuation… _his love_.

Wasn't she?

….

It was as if the sky could read the future… all of it, from morn until nightfall… was a dusty red shade. The clouds, too, bled. The entire upper atmosphere was red. Bloodstained red…

The road was a sand-coloured dirt road… occasionally, there were cobblestone sidewalks… as black as coal. But there were no cars, no streets… no people.

No _living_ people… until now.

The buildings were old… there were taverns, pubs and houses ranging from small, wooden ranch homes to massive, dark-coloured or faded-looking mansions; ivy, vines and overgrowth crawling up the sides of practically every one of them.

A few of the blind merchants with their dilapidated, one-wheeled carts and pop-up stands sold what little they had by the roadsides, or in the middle of them.

Most of them, however, were located in the square, despite the difficulty of it; as the square was shaped more like a triangle, with the structured, glass eye in the middle, constantly watering.

Trees, some black and some ever dark green popped up in the realm. Some of the trees even wept… but of course they were just as green or black as the rest. The only thing different about them was their clear sorrow… as clear as the tears they wished to fall from their intertwined leaves, but never once did.

But of course, natured had reserved most of those trees for the Black Forest… where almost no one dared venture, unless they were keen on likely never coming out.

Morticia walked down the dirt road, arm linked with that of her husband, her daughter and mother trailing behind them.

The hood of her cloak was up. She kept her head down, mostly.

Her makeup was the same as it usually was… dark smoky eyes, lips as red as blood, enchanting winged eyeliner. Her nails were painted crimson, and her hair was pushed over her right shoulder.

She had dawned her battle attire, hours before entering into the realm of their enemy.

She wore a black, silky dress that was tight down to her waist, but moveable… and flowed out, after her waist in an elegant fashion. The dress was lowcut in a deep V-neck with long, cutout sleeves. It extended down past her ankles.

With the dress, she wore a black, gothic corset with swirled, gothic designs covering it. In the back, it tied with black laces.

Her small feet were covered by black, heeled, gothic boots that blended well with her dress.

Her fingers were adorned with her wedding ring, the black ring with the black diamonds… from her father, and a couple of dark-coloured, eccentric rings.

"Are you alright, my dearest?" Gomez asked her, noticing both she and Máma had been keeping their heads down ever since the portal had closed behind them.

Morticia nodded. "I don't want to cause any discrepancies in this realm."

"Witches and vampires have… bad blood." Esmeralda quietly added.

Upon hearing this, Gomez held his wife a bit tighter. "What happened between you?" He questioned.

His battle-suit consisted of black pants, not designed for but suited for combat, and a burgundy, light-material polo shirt that was completely open and worn as a jacket.

His boots were black, and of course, his wedding ring was wrapped around his finger.

Morticia whispered in response, "There's quite a longstanding feud between us. It dates back to before even _Aunt Calpurnia's_ great aunt's time. I don't quite know what happened, but I do know both parties were on the brink of all-out war. There would be mass chaos if ever one were to happen. In efforts to avoid that, witches and vampires vowed never to step on the other's territory." She sighed, in disgust at her next sentence. "But some of them couldn't stay away. They had friends and books, and homes in each other's territory. And so, the vampires took the law into their own hands…" She shuddered. "If any one of us stepped into their realm without permission…" Eyes still on the ground, she explained, "They burned us."

Gomez was practically attached to Morticia, protectively. "If anyone tries to hurt you, Tish, I'll kill them."

Morticia kissed him. _"I know."_

Esmeralda clapped her hands, aggressively. "And I'm what, chop liver?"

Her battle attire consisted of purple, fingerless, fishnet gloves and a dark-coloured, witch-like shirt with flowing sleeves. A long skirt adorned with rags, fishnets and a couple of black chains paired with her shirt.

She wore black boots with slight heels, and her nails were painted green.

Her fingers were decorated with occult rings.

She, too, wore a hooded cloak to conceal herself from the rest of the realm. It was dark blue with half-moon and pentacle designs lining the bottom of it, and its hood.

"Of course not, Máma." Morticia replied, absently as her husband caressed her cheek. _"Je t'adore, mon cher."_ Morticia held his hand against her cheek with the one, not attached to the arm linked with his.

" _Ti adoro, cara mia."_ Gomez kissed her once more and they continued walking.

Wednesday's eyes observed her new surroundings, but soon her brain began to hurt.

What was it like there? Was she really in a place where her ancestors were once… burned? Was she really in a place where their family could easily be stopped by some ridiculous _law_ that made absolutely _no sense_ -

She sighed, calming down her rattled mind.

Rattled… Wednesday Addams was rattled.

She missed her brother, terribly and she was worried sick about him.

Worried sick about him… worried sick about what was to come.

The only one who seemed to know there'd be blood, even more than the family, was the sky.

She shook her head. Despite all of her worrying, she showed none of it on her face.

She was expressionless, and monotone as always.

She wore a black, long-sleeved dress with a white collar and white cuffs. The dress had intricate, gothic designs covering it. And under the dress, she wore black leggings.

Her hair was in two, long braids as usual…

Her nails were painted crimson. Crimson. Crimson.

Crimson.

Her nails… no.

She looked up, momentarily. She froze.

Her nails… were the same shade as her mother's.

Subconsciously at first, the chill returned.

"Wednesday, darling?" Morticia called her daughter's attention, noticing her chill. "Are you alright?"

Her eyes... she could make even her own daughter think she had nine of them in the back of her head.

"Yes, mother." Wednesday replied, automatically.

Morticia seemed unconvinced. "Are you sure? Perhaps you should have brought a jacket…" She pondered.

Wednesday shook her head, as if her mother could observe the action.

…Could she?

"I'm sure, mother. I just… flinched." Wednesday looked down. "That's all."

"Yes, but you never… flinch." Morticia said.

 _I just…? I just-_ "Well, I just…" Wednesday's vocalization of the sentence she had briefly rehearsed, trailed off. "Even if I were cold, it's too late to go back and get a jacket now."

"Are you?" Morticia questioned her daughter. "I'm sure there's a shop around here that has a jacket somewhere…"

Wednesday again, firmly shook her head. "No, mother. Really, I'm alright."

Morticia nodded. "Well, alright, darling. If you need a jacket, let me know." Her motherly instincts took over.. but her logical side went against this.

They had no money with them, and even if they had… the currency was entirely different here.

She doubted there was a currency exchange booth. Not in this realm.

The family traveled on through the Vampire Realm, Wednesday and Gomez asking anyone they came across if they knew where a woman named Regina lived or what they knew about her.

No matter whom they asked, they received the same answer. Or no answer at all.

But for those that did answer, they were hushed… as if they were housing multiple convicted felons, and conversing with strangers was much to risky because they had already said too much.

Even though they had said practically nothing at all.

A few vampires were truly in the dark. The rest pretended to be.

It had been hours, and to the Addams' dismay… they were now lost.

Lost, and having been aimlessly traipsing through… the Black Forest (completely unaware) for the last two hours.

Gomez took Morticia's hand and helped her across a small brook.

Morticia smiled at him. "Thank you, mon amour." She sighed, looking up at the sky… the dusty, blood-streaked sky.

" _My pleasure_ , querida." Gomez replied, kissing her hand.

He, too, then looked up at the sky.

Everyone did.

Esmeralda, however, was not one to stay silent. "Morticia, it's nearly sundown! I can tell."

"I'm aware, Máma." Morticia responded. "How can I help it that no one will talk to us for more than a second?"

" _Make 'em talk to us."_ Máma grumbled. "Take 'em out back, ruff 'em up a little bit… then they'll talk to us."

Morticia's eyes widened. _"Máma."_ She continued speaking as they walked further into the forest. "We will not be taking anyone _out back_." She paused. "As much as we would so enjoy doing so."

"I could always threaten them, mother." Wednesday offered, picking up a rather sharp stick. "This stick should suffice."

"No. But thank you, Wednesday." Morticia then held up a hand.

She heard something from afar.

Voices.

"Wednesday?" Morticia held Gomez's arm a bit tighter and they stepped forward.

"Yes, mother?" Wednesday answered.

Morticia's eyes then fell upon the owners of the voices, and the family ducked behind a tree. _"Keep the stick."_

Wednesday nodded, and clutched the stick tightly.

Morticia peered out at the scene before them, narrowing her eyes.

There was a large, dilapidated, parked RV. The door of the RV was half-open.

Sitting on logs around a medium-sized fire, drinking alcohol straight out of the bottle, smoking and loudly conversing with one another… were three vampires.

"Oh, come on, Rose." One of the two girls put her arm around the other, as they sat on the same log.

She had been smoking a cigarette, and now held it out to the girl whom she had her arm around.

She, herself, appeared to be in her early twenties. Her hair was wavy, down to her upper back and more red than its strawberry blonde shade. The red in her hair was very prominent. And although she was sitting, there was no denying that her legs were long… she had to be around five-foot-eight.

She was skinny but not without a bit of a figure. Her skin was pale white, as it was with most who inhabited the Vampire Realm. But, its variation of pale was on the fairer side.

Her irises were dark shade of red, but very vibrant.

She wore minimal makeup (mascara, eyeliner…) but she was very beautiful, even when wearing none at all.

She had on a black, lowcut tank top and black tight jeans, with midnight-coloured, heeled gothic boots that intimidated almost anyone who looked at them for too long.

Her nails were painted black, and she wore a black promise ring with a white diamond in it. Its inside read, _Protector of the heart I keep…_ in white, elegant font. Her ring was black, and shaped like the sigil sign of Lucifer. She had a couple of gothic rings on her fingers, and black chain bracelets. She had on black, diamond stud earrings.

 _Rosary_ was tattooed in red and outlined in black, in fantastic font, on her left collar bone with a small, black, anatomical heart that had a bit of a red glow around it, slowly creeping into the heart under the _r_ and _y_. Black bats, mid-flight with ruby blood dripping from their wings was tattooed on her left shoulder blade, and a quote was tattooed in black, typewriter font on her inner wrist that read, _Let them hate. Just make sure they spell your name right._ Behind her right ear was a tattoo of a black skull and crossbones.

Concealed, for now, from the rest of the vampire realm was her two last tattoos; of black and grey, silver chains, wrapped around her left ankle and continuing upwards with the words, _Ashes in Chains_ , above them. And of course, the tattoo on her right upper thigh of a black, lace thigh garter with a handgun tucked in it.

"I said, _no_." The one she had called _Rose_ , shook her head. "You know smoking makes me ill."

The other vampire shook her head. "You've never tried it."

" _I could have."_ _Rose_ defended. "I could have been very rebellious before you met me and you just don't know it."

The one called _Rose_ appeared to be in her early twenties as well, perhaps a year or two younger than that of the vampire next to her. Her hair was honey blonde, and naturally wavy but loosely curled… down to her upper back. She seemed to be around five-foot-six. She, too, had long legs.

She was thin, with a doll-like structure. Her skin was pale white, and less fair than the girl next to her… but still more fair than most of those of her kind.

While her irises were red, they were on the slightly brown side.

Her rose-pink high-low dress was silky and strapless. It was cut in a semi-sweetheart neckline. With it, she wore white flats.

A white diamond ankle bracelet was gracefully wrapped around her ankle. In her ears, were white diamond bat earrings with ruby eyes. On her finger, was a white promise ring with a black diamond in it. The inside read, _The heart…_ in black, elegant font.

Her makeup was quite feminine and paired well with her wardrobe. She wore rose pink lipstick, mostly natural eyeshadow and cat-eye eyeliner.

 _Ash_ was tattooed on her left collar bone in red, and outlined in white. It was tattooed in the same font as the girl who's arm was around her. A small, red, anatomical heart with a bit of black glow around it, creeping… slowly into the heart was tattooed under the _h_. On her left shoulder blade was a somewhat small tattoo of a fairy in a white, strapless dress with black angel wings… arms crossed over her knees and head, slowly rising from having been buried in them. In calligraphic font, on her right inner wrist were the black, tattooed words that read, _I won't let you go into the unknown alone._ with red, bleeding roses wrapped around them.

Under her dress, on her right side was a medium-sized tattoo of a black dream catcher with a few dark pink roses on it. The roses' petals were falling off of them in the wind… and the roses were slightly tinted with blood. The dreamcatcher was both feminine and a bit gothic… a masterpiece.

The girl with her arm around _Rose_ shot her an unconvinced look. " _Right_ , yes. And I was a stripper." She remarked, sarcastically.

The male vampire nearly spat out his drink. "Shit, Ash. I could have been your manager."

Ash laughed. "In your dreams, _Rhode Island_."

 _Rose_ suppressed a giggle.

The male vampire appeared wounded. "Are you calling my dick small?"

"I wouldn't know." Ash smoked her cigarette. "But I guess I do now." She laughed once more. "You wouldn't have gotten defensive if it wasn't true."

The male vampire took a sip of his drink. _"You suck."_

" _You_ wish Ash retorted and kissed _Rose_ on the cheek.

" _Right."_ The male vampire took a sip of his drink. "Rosary?"

The blonde vampire… Rosary, was her name.

She looked over at him. "Yes, Shadow?"

The male vampire… was Shadow.

Shadow appeared to be about twenty-eight, and his eyes were the darkest red out of the three of them.

His hair was dark chocolate brown, and he had alluring-looking stubble on his face. He was… six-foot-two, it seemed. He was also built, with a washboard stomach and a six-pack that was ready to break through his shirt. His skin was paler than that of either of the two girls.

He wore a black, gothic shirt with black jeans, and black boots. He had on black thorns and silver chains bracelets.

He had a few, self-described badass tattoos. One of which was a large skull in wolf's clothing on his left shoulder blade. Another of which was a raven, taking up most of his right arm and extending onto his right peck.

"Do you hear something?" Shadow asked her.

Morticia held her family back, and shot her mother (the loudest of them all) a stern look, wordlessly demanding silence.

Esmeralda abruptly shut up.

Rosary paused, listening… "I heard a gasp."

Ash raised an eyebrow. " _Yea_ … me too."

They then heard a rustling in the trees.

"Stay here." Ash squeezed Rosary's shoulder and stood.

" _Ash-"_

" _I mean it."_ Ash cut her off. "I don't want you getting hurt." She kissed Rosary then, and followed the noise.

Morticia's breathing was soon to become laboured. Comprehending this, she squeezed her husband's hand and pressed closer against him.

Gomez wrapped his arms around her waist, protectively.

Ash heard another movement… and although it was quiet, the noise rang in her ears.

Her head shot in the direction of a particular black tree. She walked toward it… waiting for the next sound, the next indication of an intruder.

Smoke from Ash's cigarette crept behind the tree… directly into Morticia's lungs.

She suppressed a cough.

Another movement.

Ash immediately dove behind the tree. And there she found them.

Esmeralda, Wednesday, Morticia and Gomez all standing… having been watching her, Rosary and Shadow for God knows how long.

" _Huh."_ Ash took one last puff of her cigarette, then putting it out on the ground. "We've got a couple witches on the premises."

The family moved out from behind the tree, seeing no point in staying there, as they had been discovered.

Ash followed them, standing before them. "The only witches that are stupid enough to come around here are the fortune tellers… and if that's the case, we're not interested."

Morticia stood tall, her hand, stable in her husband's firm grasp. "Well, you're in luck then." She said. "We're not fortune tellers."

"You're not?" Ash cocked her head. "So, either you're all lost or you're lookin' to get yourselves killed."

Morticia was relieved, but remained stoic.

This girl didn't seem afraid, or worse, provoked by she and her mother.

"We're lost." Morticia admitted. "And we're sorry to have disturbed you, but seeing as you're here… we'd like to ask you something."

"The vampires that wouldn't tie you to a steak right now are few and far between." Ash told her. "Lucky for you, we are some of those few… and we're very far from anything that would give a fuck that you're here."

"Good." Morticia replied. "Now, for our question." She took a deep breath. "We lost Pugsley because-"

"What the hell is a Pugsley?" Ash interjected.

Morticia stiffened. "Pugsley is our son."

" _Uh huh."_ Ash nodded, in fake understanding at why on Earth this woman named her kid Pugsley. "Go on."

"Our son, Pugsley," Morticia continued. "was kidnapped."

Rosary -against the wishes of her beloved- approached the family, listening to the story.

" _I told you_ to stay." Ash mumbled.

"I couldn't let you do this alone." Rosary defended. "And besides," Her tone became somewhat vulnerable. "I wanted to hear what happened."

"You'll be the death of me." Ash shook her head and wrapped her arms around her waist from behind.

"He was taken from us from the human realm, by a vampire called Regina."

After speaking the name, Morticia noticed a change in Ash.

A different change than what she had noticed from the others they had approached… she knew something.

Morticia persisted, hoping to get an answer from the only vampires seeming to be willing to talk to them. "Regina Blood. Her daughter seduced him in order to make him blind to what they were up to. We had no idea… and… she took him from us two nights ago. Do you have _any idea_ exactly where she would have taken him?"

Ash immediately shook her head, releasing Rosary and pulling out another cigarette to smoke. She was in need of one.

"Sorry, we can't help you." She smoked her cigarette, still shaking her head. "I don't know who that is."

Rosary was obviously upset by this and put a gentle hand on Morticia's arm. "I'm sorry; would you excuse us for a moment?"

"Of course, dear." Morticia replied.

"Thank you." Rosary smiled at her.

She then turned to Ash and tugged her arm, pulling her behind an oak tree a few yards away.

"Why _did you do that?"_ She asked her, taking her cigarette away and putting it out.

"You know why." Ash leaned against the tree. "I can't face that woman. Not again."

"I know." Rosary's face fell. "But we have to help them. We certainly can't lie to them! We know perfectly well where their son was taken…" She sighed. _"the Blood Castle."_

"Yes. But ya know who doesn't know we know?" Ash asked the rhetorical question. "Them."

"That's not true." Rosary told her.

"What do you mean _that's not true_?" Ash questioned, internally anxious.

"There was something about the mother." Rosary said. "She might have been stoic, but I could read her face. She knows we're hiding something." Her arms assisted her in her plea to help the family. "And _even so_ , do you know how _wrong_ that is?"

" _Rosary,"_ Ash crossed her arms. "I would rather do wrong in the pursuit of right than do right and risk…" She nearly bit her lip, but she refrained. "everything."

"But, this _isn't_ right." Rosary's perfect brows furrowed. "Keeping a mother _from her son_ , isn't right. And if we don't help them, we're contributing to that!"

" _You know what else isn't right?_ Keeping a sister from-" Ash stopped herself and grimaced.

"What Regina did… what she _does_ , _that's_ wrong. _That's evil._ " Rosary said. "And we can't hurt these people even more. Do you know how long they've probably been searching for him?"

Ash shook her head. "How in the hell is that our problem?"

"Dearest… _please_ , _I know_ you have a heart." Rosary gently touched the tattoo on Ash's collar bone. " _I know_ , under all of that armour… you care for more than just me." She smiled. "You can't fool me. I know a part of you wants to do this. You're a _good person_ , Ash."

Ash scoffed. "Well, I wouldn't go _that_ far."

Rosary rolled her eyes. I _would."_ She stated, resolutely. "And if we do this, maybe…" She hesitated, but eventually continued speaking. "maybe we could find Crimson."

Ash's eyes became downcast and her hint of a smile faded, instantly. "Crimson's _gone_ , Rose." She responded, her words colder than her heart once was… before the girl who stood before her. "She has been since those _bloodthirsty bitches_ took her."

"I know." Rosary wore a sympathetic expression. "But it doesn't mean there is no way she could still be there."

"Do you know what they do to them?" Ash would have fought back tears… but she had cried so many, there were none left. "They take you… you don't leave." She said. "You die."

Rosary shook her head. "But Crimson was _different_ , Ash."

" _No_ , Rose." Ash's crossed arms hugged her body tighter. "She wasn't."

" _Ash…"_ Rosary leaned against the tree, her body, mere millimeters away from Ash, and her arm holding her there. "She was _your sister_."

Ash paused, and she looked away, briefly. "More like my daughter."

Rosary stood straight up, and flashed the world's biggest puppy-dog eyes. "Please, Ash." She begged. "You always did say you loved how generous I was and… I just want to help those people." She never broke eye-contact with her. "And you. "

Ash softened a bit, and bit her lip. _"Goddamit, Rose…_ not the eyes

Rosary's lip pouted. "Please, darling." She was pleading. _"Please, please, please-"_ She drew out each re-asking of the word.

" _Rosary…"_ Ash groaned. "You're killing me."

"I can't be." Rosary smirked. "I don't have a stake."

Ash gripped Rosary's waist and pulled her close. " _Damn it_ , I love you."

Rosary grinned. "I know."

Ash shook her head and kissed her, parting Rosary's lips to make way for her tongue and fingers in her hair… kissing her from her lips to her jaw, down to her neck… forgetting everything they had planned to do.

Rosary broke their kiss and smiled, her waist still held by her only. "Is that a _yes_?"

"Yes, my angel." Ash replied and stroked her cheek. "But if we go and you get hurt, I'm never going to forgive myself."

"Don't do that." Rosary's eyes enlarged with sternness.

"Do what?" Ash questioned.

"Torture yourself." Rosary replied. "I'll be alright." She kissed her. "And thank you!"

"Actions speak louder than words." Ash remarked and pulled her as close as she could.

Knowing what that meant, Rosary kissed her neck… her fingers, running over Ash's back, and digging in just as she liked them to.

" _Mmm…_ harder; _just like that_ …" Ash breathed and let her lips crash into Rosary's.

" _Ah-hem."_ Shadow appeared behind the tree.

Rosary looked over at him, she and her girlfriend's moment having been broken, for now.

"And _that's_ why they call you Shadow." She remarked.

Shadow smirked. "Well, that isn't the only reason."

" _Alright."_ Ash eyed him, somewhat annoyed. "How long have you been watching two lesbian vampires make-out and why?"

"I've been here since you two started talking." Shadow explained.

" _Where?"_ Ash asked, knowing she hadn't seen him at all.

"The other side of the tree." Shadow responded. "I agree with Rosary, we have to help these people. It wouldn't be right to just- _holy shit_." His eyes unwittingly fell upon the most gorgeous creature he had ever seen in his one-hundred-twenty five years half-alive.

His eyes fell upon Morticia Addams.

"Who is that black goddess and why is she standing in the middle of the forest?" He asked, more to himself, as though this were all some sort of ecstatic dream. "Is that not the most enchanting creature you have ever laid eyes upon?"

Rosary smirked. "Would you like us to leave you alone for a while?"

Ash rolled her eyes. "She isn't a _fucking_ unicorn." She sighed. "She's a witch."

"Uh-huh." Shadow gripped the tree for support. "Be still my motherfucking heart, _she's gorgeous_." He looked at the two girls, mad desperation, burning in his eyes. "Is she taken?"

" _Yes."_ Ash and Rosary said in jaded, irate unison.

Shadow nodded, and ran a hand through his hair. "All that means is she's hard to get." He began walking toward the family… more specifically, toward Morticia.

Ash and Rosary followed him, seeing no other option and soon all three vampires stood before Morticia and her family.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, my lady." Shadow kissed Morticia's hand. "My name is Shadow. Shadow Noir."

Morticia appeared rather intrigued. "French."

"Pardon?" Shadow's eyebrow raised.

"Your last name, it's French." Morticia clarified. "And it means one of my favourite words."

"Oh, what does it mean?" Shadow inquired, unsure.

"Black." Morticia told him.

Gomez's blood was boiling but he said nothing.

 _God_ , he wanted to… the way he was looking at her, speaking French. Shadow was openly flirting with his wife, there was no question about it.

"Well, I could imagine why it's one of your favourite words." Shadow smirked. "You look exquisite in it."

"Why, thank you, Shadow." Morticia's eyes averted, flattered. "I'm Morticia Addams."

Truth be told, she could read her husband rather well. She knew his blood was boiling. And she loved it.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Shadow." Gomez fake smiled and shook Shadow's hand, then wrapped his arm around his wife's waist, tightly. "I'm Gomez Addams, her husband."

"Well, it's wonderful to meet you, Gomez." Shadow winked. "You're very lucky."

"Yes, I couldn't live without my Tish." Gomez looked into his wife's eyes and kissed her hand.

Morticia smiled, the sadist in her enjoying watching her husband's jealousy bubble.

" _Mmm._ Yes, I know if I-"

Figuring this had gone on long enough, Ash interjected, cutting Shadow off. "I apologize about earlier. I was just… a bit shaken." She admitted to the family. She turned to Morticia. "I know where your son is."

Morticia nearly collapsed in her husband's arms.

Finally… their answer.

"He was taken to the Blood Castle." Ash explained. "It's where Regina and the others that like to…" She couldn't say it right now. "It's where they live." She said, instead. "This… has happened before. They take their victims, from anyone, anywhere… and they use them in these depraved, blood sacrifices. An orgy of vampires… they, consume them."

Morticia closed her eyes, and gulped… afraid for her little boy.

"But, I've heard rumours that there are times where they wait until the blood moon rises." Ash told them. "And… it doesn't rise for another two days."

Morticia opened her eyes, and leaned into her husband, looking up at him for reassurance.

He gave it to her, holding her as tight as he could and kissing her. "Two days, cara mia." He stated, confidently. "We'll find him."

"Yes," Rosary took Morticia's hand. "You will." She promised.

"Thank you, dear." Morticia replied.

"You will." Rosary said again, squeezing Morticia's hand. "Because we're going to help you."

Morticia gasped. She could have cried but she held it in and looked, deeply into Rosary's red eyes. _"Thank you."_ She managed to say. "You don't know how desperately we need it. Thank you…" She had never been this affectionate with a stranger.

But this was different. Rosary was good… and she was helping her son.

Gomez kissed his wife's temple and embraced her.

Then, he looked at Rosary. "Thank you…" God, he had heard her name… but her just couldn't remember it.

"Rosary." Rosary told him.

"Thank you, Rosary." Gomez smiled at her.

Rosary was nearly brought to tears, herself, by how happy she just made them. "You're welcome."

Ash finally joined in, fully and cast a glance at the RV before turning back to the family. "Which means you'll need to join us in the RV."

"Of course. Thank you." Morticia smiled at her.

Shadow smiled at her. "It was my idea."

Ash laughed. "It was not!" She turned back to Morticia. "You'll have to excuse him. Not everyone is so fortunate as to be born with a brain."

Gomez laughed, but Morticia half-playfully tapped his chest and he abruptly stopped.

"I was born with a brain." Shadow defended himself.

"And it… what? Fell out after you were dropped on your head a couple times?" Ash retorted.

"Alright!" Rosary intervened, beginning to walk to the RV. "Follow me." She politely bade the family.

The Addams' did as instructed, following Rosary to the RV… and Gomez, pulling his wife much closer to him after witnessing Shadow cast another glance at her.

….

Scarlett moved, not; unless she was inadvertently pushed further through the gaggle of desperate, starving vampires.

There was something about them.

And Scarlett understood exactly what it was.

Without blood dripping from their chins, or staining some of their pale lips, they looked… unnatural, somehow. They looked like the vampires from the outside, the ones that… feared them. Yet, somehow… without sacrificial blood… they seemed so out of physical character.

Scarlett knew Pugsley was staring at her. She was well aware that he had been doing so for quite a few minutes now.

But she hadn't the heart to look back.

 _The ends justify the means…_

Did they?

She couldn't help but ponder this as she watched the vampires mercilessly tease their speechless, wide-eyed, likely frightened, soon-to-be meal.

But were they truly teasing him… or were they teasing themselves?

They touched him, as if the texture of the flesh they would soon suck were so important. It wasn't. The vampires would soon tear the very flesh they touched, half-roughly, straight from bone… regardless of its texture.

They sank their teeth into him, hard but not hard enough to extract the blood from his veins which they so desperately craved. They knew exactly how to do both. They had done this before.

They spoke to him, on occasion… gibberish, mainly or lust-filled murmurs of masochistic thrill.

It was clear that they enjoyed the torture of waiting for blood, almost as much as they enjoyed it when they were at last, able to consume it.

Perhaps they were teasing themselves…

Pugsley dared not speak in order to receive the attention of the girl he loved… but he dared move his head, and stare at her… just enough for her to understand he needed her; to tell him what was happening, to let him know where he was and how he ended up there, to assure him that this was just some family ritual and he wasn't going to be slaughtered and eaten.

Scarlett averted her eyes when they once again, fell upon Pugsley.

She continued to fall prey to shoves through the hoard… and sure enough, she ended up so very close… to where Pugsley was tied to the wall.

"Don't you think we should… wait?" Scarlett asked one vampire whom was sinking her teeth into Pugsley's inner wrist.

The vampire paid her no mind.

But again… despite wishing to disappear, she attempted procrastination against the inevitable: blood.

"If you taste it now, it might not be as good later." Scarlett sounded like a mother, politely yet sternly instructing her children to stop eating all of the cookies before dessert-time.

Again, no response was given.

Scarlett decided to try one more time, and tapped a vampire whom was running her tongue over Pugsley's neck.

"Perhaps you shouldn't-"

The vampire snapped her head around and angered, turned to face Scarlett.

She was nearly as tall as Regina, and curvy with curly, dark brown hair and bright -nearly glowing- red irises.

 _It's Tabitha._ Scarlett realized as soon as she was aggressively hissed at.

" _Look,_ girl Tabitha sneered. "Regina… that mother of yours in charge?" She shook her head. "She is controlled as much by us… by blood, as we are by her… and by the same crimson liquid." She stared into Scarlett's eyes, rage burning in her own. "And so are you."

Scarlett said nothing, knowing that Tabitha was… right.

Tabitha continued with Pugsley… until she was pushed out of the way.

And Scarlett inadvertently took her place.

Guilt in her eyes… she finally stared back into Pugsley's. "Yes?" She asked.

Pugsley flinched as a vampire sank his teeth into his chest, near his heart; but his eyes never left Scarlett's. "What's _going on_?" He practically whispered. "Is this some family ritual you just never told me about?" His voice was hopeful.

Scarlett half-smiled at Pugsley's gullible charisma. But the smile quickly faded when she had to speak again. "No, Pugsley… it isn't." She admitted to him.

Pugsley was obviously dejected. "Then… why-"

"I can't tell you." Scarlett cut him off. "If I do, I-" She shook her head. "It isn't… my place."

Pugsley's heart sank… and it showed on his face. "But, don't you love me?"

At his words, tears nearly formed in Scarlett's eyes… but she willed them not to fall. "Love you?" She did not break eye-contact with Pugsley… despite this proving to be difficult. "I…" She shook her head again. "I can't."

Upset, she continued shaking her head… and backing away from Pugsley.

"I can't." She was repeating to herself.

 _This blood on my teeth, it is far beyond dry,_

 _And I've captured you once, but it wasn't quite right,_

 _So I'm telling you… that you'll be safe with me…_

She watched Pugsley's face fall as she backed away. "I can't."

 _And my teeth may be sharp, and I've been raised to kill,_

 _But the thought of fresh meat, it is making me ill,_

 _So I'm telling you, that you'll be safe with me…_

Pugsley shuddered as Kora (a vampire Scarlett had known since… she was born), licked his cheek.

" _I can't."_

 _So, rabbit, please stop looking the other way-_

Pugsley broke eye-contact with her… crushed.

Scarlett couldn't look anymore! She couldn't be here anymore! She couldn't take it anymore!

She couldn't- _"I can't!"_

Scarlett screamed the final words and -trapped in the blood red sea of faces- turned into a bat and flew up the stairs and down the hall, flapping spasmodically, not stopping… no matter how many times they called.

 _It's cold out there so why not stay here_

 _Under my tail…_

" _Mmm…"_ Regina pressed against Rodolfo (five-foot-ten, built like an ox and hair as black as the bat she once was), whom was roughly sucking her neck. "You're making me wish _I_ was the blood sacrifice."

Rodolfo growled against her skin. "I wish you were, too."

"Ah… _prove it_." Regina closed her eyes, waiting for more.

Rodolfo wrapped his arms around her waist, obliging and biting down on her, hard.

Regina groaned.

" _Regina!"_ Desponia pulled the two apart, taking Regina in her arms.

"What?" Regina asked, annoyed.

Desponia gestured to the stairs. "It appears your daughter has more emotion within her than what was promised."

" _Damn it."_ Regina grimaced. She eyed Desponia. "I'm going to find Scarlett. You're in charge."

"And what do I get out of this?" Desponia questioned.

"Me, _later_." Regina promised. "Meet me in the blood room at midnight."

"How about _you_ meet _me_ in the dungeon?" Desponia raised her eyebrows.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Regina teased.

"Not as much as I'd like your blood." Desponia replied.

"And my blood, you shall have." Regina promised. "Now, keep watch over them and make sure they don't suck the blood from his veins." She ordered, then vanishing in a cloud of black and blood red-tinted smoke, in search of her daughter.

 _I wouldn't put you on the frontlines if you couldn't take the bullets._

….

Morticia, Gomez, Esmeralda and Wednesday had just learned everything they were not already aware of.

They learned of Regina, and the horrours of the monstrous acts she had been committing for over one hundred years. They learned of the Blood Castle's whereabouts, and how it was located in the exact center of the Black Forest. They learned they would likely be fighting more than just Regina. They learned… exactly what, they were likely doing to Pugsley.

The entire time they were learning this, Gomez and his black angel held each other… internally more afraid than they had ever been.

"The only way to get rid of that _black bat from Hell_ ," Ash winked at Gomez. "is through stabbing her with a garlic-laced dagger. Or knife if you could care less how gracefully she dies." She told the family. "You could rip her heart out and burn it… or of course, you could kill her with a stake." She smoked her cigarette. "But that's a bit cliché."

"Tell that to the kid from my history class." Wednesday said.

"What?" Rosary's tone barred with slight confusion.

"Mrs. Caverly told me she wanted me to do a detailed, oral report on my favourite person from history… and that a member of the class could help me." Wednesday paused. "I picked Vlad the Impaler."

"Oh, I see." Rosary smoothed down her dress.

" _Sick_ ; she picked my father's brother's nephew's cousin's former roommate!" Ash raised her fist in the air, liking this young girl a lot more.

Wednesday nodded, solemnly.

"Well, since you'll be staying with us, we have a couple of extra rooms in the RV." Shadow hadn't stopped staring at Morticia since her arrival.

Ash laughed at this. _"Since when?"_ She turned to the family. "We have one extra bedroom and… the living room, I guess."

"That's where I sleep." Shadow told Morticia, smirking.

Ash sighed. " _Alright_ , so we _don't_ have the living room." She rolled her eyes at Shadow. "We have… the kitchen." She told them, honestly.

"That's perfectly fine, thank you, Ash." Morticia smiled. "Well, the first option is we could all share the bedroom-"

"No!" Máma's eyes widened. " _No way_ will I sleep in the same room with you two. You couldn't pay me enough money!"

Morticia blinked twice and leaned into her husband. "Máma, what do you take us for?"

Gomez laughed, agreeing with his mother in law. "Exactly who we are." He smiled. "Tish, I believe I'm going to have to side with Máma for this."

Morticia cocked her head. "Well, we could just…" Her voice trailed off, knowing her mother's implication was one hundred-percent correct.

Gomez shook his head and ran his thumb over Morticia's cheek. "Don't worry, my dearest. You know just as well as I do, we would let Máma in in a heartbeat if she needed a place to sleep."

"No thanks." Esmeralda turned to Wednesday. "How about you sleep with me in the kitchen?" She proposed.

Wednesday nodded. "That's fine, Máma."

Esmeralda nodded and looked back at her son-in-law and daughter.

Gomez's lips were leaving a passionate trail down his black angel's neck.

"I've made a wise decision." Máma said to herself.

"Ash?" Wednesday asked.

"Yea?" Ash asked, neither she nor Rosary paying any mind to the extremely involved couple on the log next to them.

"How are we going to get to the Blood Castle?" Wednesday questioned.

"The RV." Ash slapped the side of the RV, causing the door to just about fall off. "Mostly." She abruptly took her hand off of the house/vehicle.

Rosary took Ash's free arm, wrapping it around her.

"Sexually frustrated or cold?" Ash looked down at her, grinning.

"Both." Rosary admitted.

"I figured." Ash kissed her. Once Rosary was satisfied, she looked back at Wednesday. "The RV can be used for couple hundred miles. Then we have to walk the rest of the way to avoid suspicion."

"Oh." Wednesday pondered this. "So, how long will it take to get there?"

Ash waited to answer Wednesday's question until the couple adjacent to her was finished necking, for now. "About two days if we leave now and take a rest stop or two so we don't crash into a tree."

"Who's up first for driving?" Shadow inquired, genuinely.

Rosary and Ash stared at him, knowingly.

Shadow groaned. "Why do I always drive?"

Rosary shrugged. "You're the single one."

Ash laughed and kissed her once more. "Alright, _badass_." She joked.

"I could have a girlfriend and you just don't know." Shadow then reached over and put a hand on Morticia's thigh. "But I don't."

Morticia said nothing, but allowed his hand's presence just for the sheer amusement of making her husband mad with jealousy.

"Yes, well," Gomez put a hand where Shadow's was, bumping his off. "thank you for allowing us to stay with you." He said, primarily to the girls.

"Oh, it's no trouble at all." Rosary replied. "After all, how else would we help you fight her if you couldn't stay with us?" She questioned, rhetorically.

"True." Esmeralda stood. "I'm gonna take Wednesday in the RV for a while. I need a nap and she's probably cold."

"I'm not cold, Máma-"

"Come on, Wednesday." Máma then grabbed Wednesday by the hand and forcefully lead her into the RV.

"I'll go start it up." Shadow reluctantly stood. But before walking away, he approached Morticia and smiled at her. "If you'd like, I could show you how it works sometime."

"Thank you." Morticia responded.

Gomez fought the urge to go find Wednesday's stick from earlier and test if it could substitute for a stake. Instead, he ran his hand up and down Morticia's back, and took her hand, bringing it to his lips.

Once Shadow walked away, Morticia spoke to Ash and Rosary. "So, two days?"

Rosary nodded. "Yes." She confirmed. "But I know how much you two love your son, and need him back. So, if Shadow doesn't drive fast, I'll have Ash kill him."

Ash put out her cigarette. "I'm always saying I'd kill for her. If Shadow knows what's good for him, he won't agitate her enough to make me prove it."

Gomez laughed, quite enjoying Ash's company… seeing something in her. He wasn't quite sure what it was… but he could understand her, even for only having just met.

Morticia smiled, the girls calming her nerves a bit. "Thank you, both of you. I don't know what we would have done if you hadn't helped us." She stood, shaking a bit.

"Are you alright, Morticia?" Rosary asked.

Morticia gave a nod -unconvincing to the one man who knew her better than she knew herself- but didn't meet her eyes. "Yes, Rosary. Thank you."

She walked away then… far away, by a good few yards, arms crossed over her chest… her worries, fears for her son… a mother's love, eating her alive.

Gomez immediately stood, casting a brief glance at Ash and Rosary. "Thank you, Ash, Rosary. What you're doing means a great deal to us."

Not a second after uttering those words did Gomez leave the two girls alone, to seek out his black angel and remind her that she was not alone.

No matter what happened… come heaven or highwater, he would never leave her alone.

….

The room was large, with dark -mainly black-, gothic wallpaper and a black, porcelain floor. The window took up most of the back wall. One could sit at it but it was covered by long, gothic drapes.

There was a bed in the corner with black bedsheets, and the closet was a whole other room in itself. There was black vanity, with ruby handles near the door and a dark brown bookshelf by the left wall, filled to the brim with jars of blood, unsigned papers, dead bats on display, skulls, daggers and vampire signs.

There was so little in the room for it having so much space.

Tears -almost blue-, streamed from the eyes of the young Scarlett Blood.

She was turned, facing her door… unable to deal with bloody, cold, cruel reality… and she cried.

She had been crying, and crying… for what felt like years. But it was not years.

It was mere minutes.

She refused to look at herself in the mirror in her closet at all since she dressed for the sacrifice.

She refused to look at her loosely curled hair, or her gothic makeup… or her silk, strapless, lengthy, blood red dress… or her black high heels, or her jewelry… black, elegant bracelets and a black, gothic choker with silver, black and red rings….

She couldn't stand to look at any of it.

The hoard of vampires, ready to consume Pugsley as soon as her mother told them the blood moon had risen… the way they touched Pugsley and made him feel like he was _nothing_ but some _object_ to please, kill and destroy but it was alright, it was always alright because the ends justified the means-

She had to stop. She had to stop.

But she couldn't stop.

The tears, the anger and the pain… it just kept pouring out of her.

And there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it now, but what her emotions willed.

And they willed her to cry.

Smoke.

She heard smoke, coming from inside her room. She _heard_ smoke. _Hearing_ smoke, could only mean-

Scarlett turned 'round, slowly… and then she froze.

There was her mother, having just appeared in the room… all remnants of the black and red cloud, having almost completely disappeared.

Scarlett forced herself to look her mother in the eyes, because if she didn't…

"Scarlett." Regina greeted her daughter, her tone incredibly… even.

"Mother." Scarlett nodded, once.

"How long have you been in here?" Regina asked, no amount of compassion in her hard voice.

 _Too long._ Scarlett wished to say. But she held her tongue, and instead replied: "A few minutes. I… I flew."

" _Mmm."_ Regina looked her up and down. "What the hell happened in there?"

"I…" The tears came flooding back (Had they truly ever stopped?). "I couldn't watch that anymore! I couldn't watch them _hurt him_ , I couldn't think about _taking his blood_! I… mother, I don't think I can _take_ the bullets! Or what they're doing to Pugsley!" She cried. And then the truth came out. " _I love him_ , mother!" And hearing that said out loud… she broke down. "I love him."

Regina grew angry. But still, her voice remained quite even, as she was soulless in her response. "Have I taught you _nothing_?" She asked. "The ends _justify_ the means-"

" _No, they don't!"_ Scarlett shook her head, cutting her off. "Not this time! And, mother, _this is hurting me_! I don't want to… I don't want to keep _killing people_!"

Silence.

Cold. Bloody. Silence.

Silence, which Regina eventually broke with her words. She raised an eyebrow at Scarlett. "You don't want to keep killing people?" She paused. "Is emotion _too much for you_ , dear?" She shook her head, in utter disgust. "After I've built… after all _I have done for you_ and you don't want to keep _killing people_?"

"Mother, I-"

" _Don't_ you interrupt me!" Regina yelled, gradually working the lava of her anger out of her volcano of a person… gradually working her way to eruption. "I give birth to you, I give you _everything_ you could ever need. I built a _castle_ out of _my bones and blood_ in order to show you what we were capable of! You have _clothes on your back_ , a _roof over your ungrateful head_! And all I ask is that you do your part. All I ask is that _you do what needs to be done_! And now, because you've… fallen in _love_? Have you?" She practically spat. " _You don't even know what love is._ You don't have the _capability of understanding_ that love is _an illusion_ , Scarlett. Love can't get you through because it isn't real, but _blood can_! _You need that_ , you don't _need_ love's façade!" She threw her arms up in the air, then they gracefully floated back down. " _They've called._ Do those words mean _anything_ to you?" Bleeding flames of rage danced in the blood of her eyes. "No." She shook her head. "You will come back downstairs, and you will finish this." She commanded. "Damn it, you will finish this."

Scarlett could not help but weep, still. "No." She shook her head… much like her mother had, just moments ago. "Mother, _please_! Please, _I can't_."

" _You can and you will."_ Regina crossed her arms.

"No." Scarlett… broke eye contact with her. "No, I've done too much damage. I can't hurt anybody else! I won't do it, I can't do it-"

Her head jerked to the side, as quick as a whip.

Regina had slapped her, straight across the face, she knew… the instant she felt the bit of blood that had been drawn from her cheek.

" _What?"_ Regina's eyes flashed fire.

Scarlett held back more tears, and her cheek… her eyes, still not looking into those of her mother's.

"Look me in the eyes _, Scarlett."_ Regina ordered. _"Now."_

Scarlett turned, still holding her cheek… and looked her mother in the eyes.

"Good." Regina stiffened. "And _don't you dare_ , look away from me again. _Do you understand?_ "

Scarlett's lip quivered. "Yes, mother." She responded.

Regina gestured to the bed. "Sit."

Scarlett began to walk over to the bed, without a second thought.

" _And for your sake,_ take that hand off your cheek Regina commanded.

Scarlett instantly did as bade, then sitting on the bed.

Regina stood before her daughter. "The blood sacrifice is the second most important thing we have. _Blood_ , is the first." She began. "Without it, we would be nothing but smoke in the silent air. Pacts, sacrifices, rituals… _this_ , was all created long before I ever grew to lead a part of it. It _sustains_ us, it _feeds_ us, it _pleasures_ us in ways no mere mortal could ever think of understanding. It connects us. There's a system of power and control in the art of sacrifice; there always has been. The power is in us… and we are controlled by the blood." She explained. "Blood _ties_ -"

"Blood _lies_!" Scarlett snapped, upset.

More blood… from her freshly wounded cheek, by the hand of her mother.

Silence, from Scarlett.

Cold. Bloody. Silence.

" _Blood_ , is everything. _Love_ … _that_ , is what lies, Scarlett." Regina continued. "And when the blood moon rises… we will do what we have been doing for years, what _I_ … have been doing for years, since long before you were born. And when _love_ , doesn't save that boy…" She smoothed down her hair. "Then you will understand."

Draining the blood (a pact having been signed, or no such thing ever having been brought up)… sucking it, at first. Wild bacchanalia always ensued afterward… the elite of the vampires, venereally feeding off of Regina, and the rest… off of one another, also devouring whatever was left of their victim's blood… and even veins, on a good night.

On a night when the blood moon had risen.

Scarlett swallowed, hard. "Yes, mother." She said.

Despite her submission… the memory, the memory of the most brutal sacrifice she had ever experienced… that happened last year… it was burned in her brain.

There were three victims in two nights… but the most brutal was the first: a little girl.

She was short, for her age… and her skin was on the fairer side of pale. Her eyes were of the most beautiful ruby red shade. Her hair was long, down to her back and curly. It was as brown as dark chocolate. And she wore a long, flowing, white summer dress with a black chain necklace, with a silver ring hanging from it.

Scarlett never even got to learn her name… only what she sounded like when she screamed out in agony, what her blood tasted like… and what they did with her unneeded flesh: throwing the remains to the wolves… or the cannibals that inhabited the far reaches of the Black Forest.

Regina eyed the door.

As soon as her eyes fell upon it… it opened, just enough for Scarlett to go through.

"Go, dear." Regina gestured out the door. "They're waiting."

 _The ends justify the means._

Did they? Yes.

Yes, they did.

…

The flames of the fire they sat around rose, as high as they could in their contained space.

The flames… forever contained.

Were they?

Five logs were placed around the fire, each sat on by one or two from the group.

Smoke… its grey cloud coming off the end of Gomez's cigar surrounded the two, and part of the log. Odd, it never, before, was so grey... unless the night of Regina's arrival was counted.

Now… Morticia was aware of just what the smoke, that first night signified.

It was a warning. It was a small, clueless -yet making sense, at the same time- prelude as to what was to come.

It had never been reflecting in the candlelight.

"I told him I would shove it up his greedy ass." Ash smoked her cigarette. "I mean, I get it, most marketplaces don't sell blood in a bottle. But, like, _nine_ of us in the whole realm are wealthy!"

"How much did he want for it?" Gomez asked.

"Nine-eighty-seven." Ash told him, as if it were the most ridiculous thing in the world.

Gomez's eyes enlarged. _"Nine-hundred and eighty-seven dollars?"_

Ash laughed. "I take it your one of the wealthy ones?" She shook her head. " _Nine silvers_ and eighty sevenin _rubies_." She clarified.

Gomez nodded and took a puff of his cigar. "That's outrageous!" He exclaimed, in somewhat confused agreement with her.

"I know." Ash shook her head. "He didn't like that response very much and refused to sell me anything."

"Then what happened?" Wednesday asked.

"I stole pretty much the entire top shelf." Ash replied and put her arm around Rosary. "Girl's gotta feed her family."

Morticia nodded once, concurring with her statement.

Shadow took notice of this, and immediately found her somehow even more enchanting.

"Morticia?" He allowed himself to take his time in speaking her name. "What a beautiful name." He remarked.

"Thank you." Morticia smiled. "My father thought of it."

"Oh. Did he?" Shadow sat on the edge of his log, moving as close to her as he could. "Where is your father?"

"Dead." Morticia stated.

" _I am_ so sorry Shadow gulped. "I…" He attempted to pull at the air for words, but he was left emptyhanded.

"Really, Shadow, it's alright." Morticia responded, used to this by now. "It isn't like you could have known."

"My apologies." Shadow reiterated. "Morticia, I'm going to admit, I had no idea you were a witch."

"Really?" Morticia asked.

Not realizing the backhanded compliment his statement might be taken as, he continued. "Yes, you're incredibly beaut-"

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but, Tish? Have you noticed how… _orange_ , that fire is?" Gomez put a hand on her thigh and gestured toward the fire.

Morticia suppressed laughter at how quick he was to act on his jealousy. "Yes, mon cher, I have." She replied. "I've never seen a fire like this that didn't have at least a bit of orange in it."

"Nor have I. It must be… a fire thing." Gomez said, taking another puff of his cigar.

Morticia eyed him, bemused but also communicating that she knew what he was doing.

Gomez put his cigar out on the log next to him and squeezed her thigh, his eyes large and desperate.

"Are you sure you're not trying to kill me?" He whispered.

Morticia wrapped her arms around his neck and ran a hand over his hair. "Now what would be the fun in that?" She asked, rhetorically.

" _Mi encantadora…"_ Gomez pulled her close to him, his arms around her waist.

" _Mon diable…"_ Morticia smirked and kissed him, passionately, parting his lips to make way for her tongue and eliciting an adoring groan.

Shadow sighed and took a sip of his bottled blood. "Did you tell Ash you almost got murdered earlier today?" He asked Rosary.

Rosary's eyes enlarged and she gestured for him to shut up.

Ash's arm slipped off of Rosary, instantly and she looked into her eyes. _"What?"_ She asked.

"Yea, she went out to Reeden and-"

"You went to _Reeden Alley_? _Are you insane?_ " Ash's tone was growing agitated, and very concerned.

"Ash, I had no choice." Rosary's voice was calm. "We were running low on food and it was your day to hunt so, I went."

"You could have come and gotten me!" Ash's put out her cigarette. _"I don't know how many times I have_ told you _not to go out there_ alone

"I was _alright_." Rosary defended.

" _Really?_ " Ash crossed her arms. "Because Shadow says you almost got _murdered_!"

"Well, I… did." Rosary admitted. "I was pulled to the side by a group of thugs but I-"

" _What?"_

"But I _handled it_." Rosary finished.

" _Handled it_ how Ash questioned.

Rosary sighed. " _Unfortunately_ , I had to suck their blood."

" _You had to_ suck _their_ blood Ash's eyes were wide. "What the hell, Rose! This is _why_ I have to be with you, you could have _died_!"

"I didn't see a knife on them!" Rosary threw up her hands, now upset.

" _Oh, so that means there wasn't one?"_ Ash scoffed. "That's it, I'm going with you next time." She decided. "Do you remember what they looked like?"

"Why?" Rosary raised an eyebrow.

"Just _answer_ the _question_." Ash demanded.

" _And what if I do?"_ Rosary put a hand to her head. "You are _not_ going with me next time, because you'd _kill them_! And _I will not_ have you locked up for this!" She shook her head. "You always do this."

"Do what?"

" _This!"_ Rosary threw up her hands. "You always act like I'm… _weak_!" She told her. " _Why?_ I'm just as strong as you are, and _you know that_. So why do you have to act like my damn _mother_?"

" _Are you fucking_ serious Ash swallowed, hard. " _I love you_ , and I _refuse_ to let anything happen to you." She told her. _"Certainly not because I couldn't walk you through fucking_ Reeden Alley

"But, you don't _have_ to walk me!" Rosary set down her bottle of red wine. "I can _protect myself_!"

"I _know you can_ , darling. I didn't _say that_!" Ash attempted to explain to her. "You are too important to me, don't you understand that?"

" _I know_ , Ash. So are you. But, you don't see me keeping you from hunting three days a week!" Rosary pointed at her. "In _these woods_ , that's more dangerous than Reeden Alley _could ever be_."

Ash took a deep breath. "That is _completely different_."

" _How?_ _How_ is that different?" Rosary asked. "Because you're… the protector, and I'm _what_? _A field mouse?_ "

"No, Rose." Ash responded. "You are my everything, _I can't lose you_."

"But, what do you think I did before I met you?" Rosary questioned. "For the first _seventeen years of my life_ , I protected myself. _I still can._ "

By now, Gomez had been watching their argument for a good few minutes.

All he could think of was the parallels between he and Ash. Their nature to protect was very strong… the difference being that Ash had a bit more of a temper with her partner.

But Gomez… could understand her. All she wanted to do was protect the love of her existence, but that urge to protect… manifested into control.

Ash seemed to have battle scars, and quite a lot of them… and how she reacted to them was not by explanation and an attempt at understanding, but rather, it was by becoming closed off and quick to anger.

Gomez thought about what he used to be like before he met his black angel.

He had quite the temper due to Fester's disappearance and the guilt, and hurt he had suffered through. He'd never physically hurt anyone, and neither would Ash… but the urge not to lose someone else, let alone the one you love most… that is strong, indeed.

He only did change when he met Morticia.

He wanted to and needed to keep nothing from her (He grimaced as he thought about now… the one thing he didn't tell her could easily… no; Pugsley would be alright. He would be.), he needed to be open, completely with her. He had to always tell her the truth when she asked for it… because he knew how important trust was, especially hers.

He needed to be completely himself, and show her… how very important she was to him. To make it known to her, in every way possible, that he could not exist without her, his amore, his oxygen.

He needed to hold nothing back, and always… make sure she knew he adored her, loved her with everything he had and everything he was.

But still, he knew how protective he could be due to all of that… and when he did get that way, he tried to manage it. But it was different with Morticia, he couldn't… lose her.

He took a puff of his cigar.

He desperately wished to talk to Ash.

"Rose," Ash had no desire to continue fighting anymore, not with Rosary. "Look at me, please, angel."

Rosary met her eyes, hurt.

"I'm sorry." Ash said, and placed a gentle hand on her thigh. "I just… can't afford to fuck up again." She momentarily closed her eyes as she exhaled, deeply. "Not after what happened to Crimson."

Rosary took her hands, ready to say something to her… to let her know that wasn't her fault-

"Who is Crimson?" Wednesday unintentionally interrupted.

Ash pulled out another cigarette to smoke, needing one. "She was… one of the most important people in my life." She told Wednesday. "She was intelligent, and funny… and the sweetest little girl…" She would not cry. "She was short for her age. Her skin… it was pale, but a lot like mine. Her hair was dark, and long… and very curly. And her eyes… were unusual but stunning; ruby-coloured." She described. "She… I can still remember the last thing I ever saw her in." She nearly gulped. "She had… on the necklace I made for her, so she would never lose…" She shook her head, and met Wednesday's eyes. "Crimson was my sister."

"Oh." Wednesday even felt terrible for her. "That's awful, that she's… what happened to her?"

"She was eight when she disappeared two years ago." Ash took a puff of her cigarette. "Stolen by those… _bloodthirsty bitches_. _By Regina._ " Her tone was lathered with disgust when she said the name. "She was taken that night along with two others… one of them merely a year older than she. The other, a husband… that we know of." She paused. "I had been taking care of her ever since out parents died -not that my mother was the gold standard; but my father…" Her vocal train of sentence in that regard, derailed. "I was fifteen when they were killed… Crimson was a baby." She smoked her cigarette once more. "Look how well I succeeded at that."

Rosary took Ash's hands again and squeezed them, meeting her eyes and not looking away. _"That wasn't_ your fault _, Ash."_ She ran a hand through her hair and sat closer to her. " _Alright?_ I know… you miss her. And so do I. But, it hurts me to watch you blame yourself for this. They're the ones who are responsible… Regina took her, you didn't give her to her." She said. "You were _everything_ for her that you could be. You were… you were _a mother_ to her. And nothing, _nothing_ that happened to her was your fault."

Ash put her cigarette out on the ground, and looked back into Rosary's eyes. "Thank you, Rose." She sighed. "What would I do without you?"

Rosary smiled and moved closer to her, holding her neck with her arms as Ash placed her hands on her hips.

"I love you." Rosary caressed her cheek.

"I love you, too, my angel." Ash replied, kissing her.

Wednesday coughed.

She had just attempted to smoke a cigarette, and now the thing lie on the ground, the hated thing having been crushed under her feet.

Gomez laughed, putting an arm around his wife and therefore forcing Shadow's arm off.

"You certainly are your mother's daughter." Gomez said to Wednesday.

"Pardon?" Morticia asked.

Wednesday rolled her eyes.

Gomez pulled Morticia closer and grinned. "Tish, do you remember what happened the last time you tried to smoke?"

"I remember you laughed at me." Morticia recalled.

"I didn't laugh at you." Gomez took her hand. "I laughed at your actions."

Morticia half-smirked, raising her eyebrow. "Mmm."

"You coughed up a lung after one drag." Gomez remembered, chuckling a bit.

"Yes, because my insides couldn't handle all that smoke." Morticia defended. "Yours never seem to have a problem with it." She leaned into him, slowly, her nails, dancing along his chest. "Tu es tout pour moi, _mon diable_."

Gomez pulled her in for a kiss. "Eres divina, _mi hermosa diosa_."

Morticia dug her nails into his chest.

"Cara mia…" Gomez's hands found her waist.

"Mon cher…" Morticia kissed him.

Soon, their passionate kiss lead into an even more passionate make-out… tongues, hands and whispered words of undying love and affection…

"That's my cue." Máma yawned, then getting up and entering the house with wheels to ready herself for bed.

Ash stood now, Rosary's legs wrapped around her waist… and she carried her into the RV, expertly holding her and ready to apologize for the way she'd behaved earlier.

Wednesday watched, unfeelingly as Shadow helplessly witnessed Thumper in heat.

"You should get used to this." Wednesday said to him.

She watched the fire with Shadow then, as it instantly went out.

Shadow, defeated for now, went into the trailer… hoping to get an hour's sleep before staring up the RV and driving once again.

Seconds passed… then spilling over into minutes, and making ten of them.

Noticing the change in temperature, Gomez looked over and realized the fire had gone out.

He then felt the drastic change in temperature and held Morticia tightly. "Would you like to go inside, querida?"

Morticia snuggled up against him, burying her head in his neck. She shook her head. "Can we just stay out here for a while?"

"Of course, my darling." Gomez replied… wishing he had brought a jacket for her.

He kissed her temple and held her, moving his hands a bit, attempting to warm her.

A couple of more minutes passed of Morticia's dark orbs of mystery… staring into the black pit of emptiness. The fire, once there… now nothing more than a distant memory of the darkest light that existed.

And after having enough of watching this… she began to shake.

Sensing this, Gomez held her as tightly as he could.

"Are you sure you don't want to go inside, mi encantadora?" Gomez asked again.

No response.

And then the single teardrop fell onto Gomez's hand.

No more came; but the shaking ceased, not.

"What's wrong, my darling?" Gomez worriedly inquired, figuring he knew the answer.

Morticia took a deep, anxious breath. "Oh, Gomez… what isn't?"

Gomez nodded, careful not to compromise the position of her head.

"I'm just… so, scared." Morticia confessed.

There was that guilt-ridden, sinking feeling, creeping into the pit of Gomez's stomach once again. "My black angel, I… I know." He stroked her hair. "I know. As am I."

Morticia took a deep breath, breathing Gomez in and her fears, out.

Gomez situated her onto his lap, then, and wrapped his arms around her from behind, craning his neck for her head.

"If I'm gonna go to Hell," He sang, softly.

"I'm gonna go to Hell with you.

And I'll only go to Heaven… if they let me bring you, too."

Morticia smiled, putting her hands atop his and shutting her eyes.

Continuing to sing, Gomez rocked, slowly as he did.

"I live in a glass house, darling, with my black heart,

Every time I see you,"

"My world's no longer broken." Morticia chimed in, her exhausted yet nonetheless beautiful voice, singing along with him.

"I'll love you, for all eternity,

I'll hold you, forever, stay with me."

The two sang, in unison.

Gomez kissed her, and felt her breathing stabilize as she began to drift off.

"If I'm gonna go to Hell,

I'm gonna go to Hell with you."

"And I'll only go… to Heaven…" Morticia planted a light kiss on his neck… and she fell to sleep.

"If they let me bring you, too." Gomez closed his eyes for a moment, and breathed out in relief that his Tish was able to fall asleep.

As he wrapped his arms further around his sleeping black angel… his thoughts moved toward his son… toward Pugsley, and… and-

And he cried.


	10. Blood Ties

Chapter 9: Blood Ties

There was no path through the forest. There never had been.

However, they needed the dirt road, not, to travel to their destination: The Blood Castle.

The sun wished to peak through the small windows of the old RV, but it never did get the chance. Seeing as it affected Morticia, Shadow immediately pulled over the blinds before anyone even had a chance to breathe.

The hot, blazing ball of fire did not affect the vampires as many claimed. This bright, yellow star in the sky was different for them than that of the land in which they were unfamiliar with. It was incapable of ailing them, for reasons undiscovered.

Morticia, however, was affected by the blaze no matter which blaze it indeed was. Her rare form of photosensitivity was effective regardless of where she was. All through walking prior, she had kept up the hood of her cloak (due to this and concealing her features from those who might seek to harm her). It was not until she was at last, in the forest and under the covers of the trees that she had the option of removing her cloak (and that, she'd done).

Two days, it had been.

Two days, the group had been riding in the RV, the beat-up house-vehicle traveling at warp speed (for an RV of its… kind), to ensure they reached the Blood Castle on time.

"Alright, take it easy, Ash." Rosary warned, as her beloved had nearly bitten off her hand.

Ash had been driving the RV for three hours now, and Rosary held up a breakfast burrito mixed with meat and blood for her to eat while driving.

" _What?_ It isn't like I haven't done this before." Ash winked and pressed harder on the gas, causing a harsh quake within the vehicle. "Did anyone die?" She questioned, feeling the jolt.

"Not yet!" Esmeralda replied, taking a chunk out of her roasted fire fox.

Rosary sighed. "I hope you all like your meals." She said to the group. "We don't have much. There are only three of us and we usually just hunt for the food."

"Hey, I'm not complaining!" Esmeralda replied. "I don't know what the hell a fire fox is, but it's _delicious_."

"Good." Rosary smiled and ate a8 blackberry from the plastic bowl in her lap.

Ash smirked.

Her battle attire consisted of a black tank top that was lowcut in a V-neck, black combat leggings and black, gothic boots. Her black leather jacket rested on the back of her seat.

Her nails were painted black, and her makeup was as minimal yet still striking as ever.

She wore her black promise ring, a black, spiked bracelet and a black ring designed as a pentacle, overlapping the sigil sign of Lucifer. Hanging around her neck was a red, piercing cat eye necklace.

Her hair was pinned up with a single, curled strand hanging down.

She aggressively took a bite of her burrito, then spoke to the group again. "Alright, news! We're like, seventy percent of the way there."

Morticia squeezed Gomez's hand, relieved at how close their destination was.

Gomez kissed it, passionately. "We're almost there, querida." He looked, deeply into her eyes.

Morticia breathed, deeply. "We are, aren't we?"

Morticia sat atop the dining table next to her husband, who romantically fed her blackberries from a plastic bowl on the table next to him.

Morticia turned to Ash and Rosary. "Thank you… for everything."

" _You're welcome."_ Ash attempted to say whilst chewing her burrito.

"Pardon?" Morticia asked, not comprehending Ash's… reply.

"Allow me to translate." Rosary replied. "You're welcome." She paused, after which she added: "From both of us."

"Oh." Morticia nodded.

"We'll take a rest stop in about thirty-five miles and then drive another ten." Rosary explained. "Then we have to walk the rest of the way."

"How long is the rest stop?" Morticia questioned, trying not to let the worry for her son way too heavy on her voice.

"Probably about twenty." Rosary replied. "We'll drive this thing through blood, rain and fire, Morticia. Don't worry."

"Thank you, Rosary." Morticia smiled. She turned back to her husband, meeting his adoring eyes. "We're going to find Pugsley." She practically breathed out.

"Of course we are, Tish." Gomez responded, not yet releasing the hand he held. He took another berry from the bowl and held it over her.

Morticia opened her mouth, consuming it and nearly consuming his fingers along with it.

Gomez grinned, throwing her words back at her. "Haven't you ever been told not to bite the hand that feeds you?"

Morticia laughed. "Not by you."

"How true." Gomez wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close to him. " _Cómo muy cierto_ , mi encantadora."

"Mmm… _en effet, il est_ , mon diable." Morticia kissed him. Je t'adore _, mon amour et ma passion"_

Gomez growled, his lips now heatedly kissing her neck. _"Tish…_ that French." He groaned.

"Oui." Morticia smirked. _"Encore?"_ She asked, knowing the answer.

" _Please."_ Gomez begged, attacking her neck with desperate fervency.

"Je t'aime _, mon beau diable."_ Morticia moaned, craving more of the feeling of his mouth against her skin. _"J'ai besoin de toi,_ mon extase _. Mon amour, mon éternité... me mordre,_ s' il vous plait…"

Gomez did as bade, and his teeth came into play.

" _Oui... encore..._ le faire à nouveau Morticia was pleading.

Gomez's teeth sank into her snow white flesh once again, and he devoured her more than either of them had even thought to devour the blackberries.

Shadow sighed, continuing to chew on his three-day-old rabbit.

His battle attire consisted of black combat pants, black boots and a black, sleeveless shirt.

"Ash?" Wednesday asked from where she sat next to her grandmother in respective worn beanbag chairs, brought in from the living room.

"Yea?" Ash answered, nearly finished with her burrito.

Wednesday took a bite of her fire fox. " _How_ … _why_ , does Regina kill other vampires?"

"She kills them in one of the three ways possible to take out a vampire." Ash responded. "Then, I'm assuming they continue with their… blood sacrifices." She grimaced. "From what I've heard, they only consume other vampires when they're starving."

"Oh." Wednesday nodded.

"Let that sink in." Ash cocked her head, in pause. _"Literally."_ She laughed a bit.

Black humour kept her from focusing on her one, terrible reality.

"So, how did ya get the RV?" Esmeralda inquired.

"The wastelands, located on the outskirts of the realm." Rosary explained. "Vampires, places and things that don't fit in here live there. It's by choice, of course. But it's like its own, separate realm. They even let in witches, if they live long enough to find the place." She continued. "We have a couple of friends there who sold it to us."

"Yea;" Ash chimed in. "and it was cheap as fuck."

"Fifteen-hundred rubies." Shadow added from his place, leaning against the counter. He raised his bottle of blood, then bringing it to his lips.

"Huh." Esmeralda shook her head. "You're RV cost more than my college fund." She remarked, in awe.

Ash raised an eyebrow. "What kind of college did you go to?"

"Well, it wasn't- oh, yea." Máma realized her mistake, then. "Your currency's different." She sighed. "Forget it."

Morticia was situated in her husband's strong arms, comforted by his embrace. "Gomez?" She looked up at him from where her head rested on his shoulder.

"Cara mia?" Gomez's thumb ran over her hand.

"Pugsley… he'll be alright." It wasn't so much as a confident statement as it was a hesitant, fearful one. Regardless of the outcome, however, it was an attempt at reassurance (for both of them).

Gomez understood instantly. "Yes, my darling." He brought her delicate, porcelain hand to his lips. "Of course he will."

….

The hoard seemed to grow in size each time he looked at it.

But perhaps that was just a trick of his paranoid mind.

No matter how many times the immortal human bats seemed to grow in number… he could always point her out.

She hadn't been there for a while, but then she just… reappeared, walking back down the stairs and disappearing (to all except Pugsley) into the mass of her kind.

Her… kind.

Pugsley's eyes concentrated on Scarlett; that was true. However, the young boy's light brown irises and dilated pupils never left her for reasons that differed than those prior.

He did it because… because he couldn't look anywhere else.

That, and the feelings in his brain cells, they bubbled and collided. He suspected things. He loved her and now… now, he... he couldn't.

His emotions ranged greater than upset… he felt- _he_ _had been_ , utterly betrayed by the girl he would once do anything for, and was _sure_ felt the same way about him.

As sure as he was that he wasn't going to die.

How could he have loved her (Did he, still?)? How could he have been blinder than she was when in flight? How could he have… done everything for her, and never bothered to notice the nothing he received in return? Nothing… nothing but kisses on the cheek and empty promises.

He wished he would have told his parents about Scarlett. The truth that he had been in love with the daughter of Ms. Blood. That _she_ … was the special girl.

They would have loved him regardless, but they also likely would have tried to talk some sense into him… done whatever they could to make him see the error of his besotted, naïve ways.

Would it have worked? Perhaps. Perhaps… no.

But they would have tried. And perhaps they could have stopped what was to come, had they known Scarlett was the one who had held his heart.

Had… not anymore.

For how could one love another… when they'd been betrayed in such a way?

How could he love her? He couldn't.

He could only watch her… and think… comprehending that his ending would be filled with heartbreak, terror… and endless regret.

He concentrated on her form… and observed as she turned so as to not be trampled by oncoming vampires.

He knew Wednesday had been right about her then. He knew he had been blind, and the only thing she ever truly lusted for was the hot, crimson liquid to soon be extracted from his veins… and never had it been him.

How else could he explain the streak of dried blood on her cheek?

Scarlett had joined the masses as soon as her mother let her out the door.

She had joined them… doing as she had been told. Readying herself for the blood sacrifice.

Readying herself. She was always readying herself.

And, Scarlett knew -just as Tabitha had said, in so many words- she always would be.

Her guilt was almost unbearable. Almost.

She was not moving by choice. She only moved because if she didn't… she would be trampled; and the dried streak of blood on her cheek would then become fresh.

She knew he was looking at her. She knew he watched her… but she didn't know why.

I _f I had done half of the things I have to myself, I certainly wouldn't look at me._ Scarlett thought.

It would be easier for Pugsley to somehow just escape… escape and forget about her, forget about the vampires that- _touched_ , him. Forget it all, just run… run and never look back… and pray he didn't come across any cannibals whilst he did.

It would be easier for Pugsley to somehow just escape… if the only vampires left were she, and her mother.

But that would never work. Her mother would know she had… would she?

Scarlett shook her head.

 _The ends justify the means._

Her mother may have been strict, but she was her mother. And she had raised her to the best of her ability.

She truly had done everything for her. There may never had been an Alistair, but there was… other, things. There were other… people. Other things and people that Regina promised Scarlett she would never have to deal with, never have to approach if she did what needed to be done.

Regina had seen so much… had learned the horrours of this realm and all others. Had learned about love and how it was all lies… had discovered what taking blood from her sister… and her mortal husband, felt like. Had built a castle- _this_ castle out of her blood, bones and never cried tears. Had taught Scarlett that no sacrifice was too great to achieve what you lust for.

Scarlett had seen much as well, despite her mother assuring her she wouldn't have to. She had seen… seduction, and, felt it… but never her own. Never her own unless blood was involved. Then she almost understood. But… never her own.

Until… until him- _no_.

No. He was gone, he would…

Scarlett gulped.

He would die.

 _The ends justify the means._

 _The ends…_ Scarlett sighed. _Justify the means_.

But what ends? If the ends were brutalized versions of the means, was it truly justified?

Scarlett was pushed into the centre of the hoard, and then pulled away and out of it by Adrasteia, mouth on her wrists and soon, on her neck… pulling her closer.

Looking around her, she saw no new sight.

She witnessed vampires, all over Pugsley and all over each other… near bacchanalia but now, just a moving, hedonistic, blood lustful mass of them… that mass soon to become more sensualized than it already was.

But she was used to this.

She had readied herself.

….

"I'm trying not to bite your neck,

But it's beautiful and I'm gonna get,

So drunk on you and kill your friends…"

Máma and Wednesday played poker at the living room coffee table, listening to Rosary sing in the shower from the bathroom.

She had figured she would do it now before she had to drive shortly.

"Guess who's winning?" Máma grinned.

Wednesday was solemn of tone, and expressionless of face. "Me."

Esmeralda paused, eyeing her cards and thinking back to their game so far. _"Damn."_ She humphed. "You're right."

"You'll need me and we can be obsessed,

And I can touch your hair and taste your skin,

The ghosts won't matter 'cause we'll hide in sin."

The shower turned off then, and after a few minutes, Rosary stepped out, dressed for battle.

She wore black combat leggings and a raspberry rose-coloured crop top that was spaghetti-strapped and lowcut in a V-neck. A black, ripped jean jacket with white fishnet in the tears was slung over her right arm.

On her feet, were black and white bordello ankle boots.

Her makeup consisted of mostly natural eyeshadow, her mascara and cat-eye eyeliner as well as the rest of her usual face, including raspberry rose pink lipstick.

She wore her promise ring with white diamond earrings, and a couple of silver rings as well as raw crystal rings that were different shades of pink and red.

"Hey, are you guys playing poker?" Rosary asked.

Wednesday nodded. "Where did you hear that song?" She questioned.

"Oh, I heard it performed at a party in one of the bars in the wastelands." Rosary replied. "It's where we get pretty much everything, especially good music." She told Wednesday. "We're planning to move out there. It's a bit more… our speed."

"I see." Wednesday continued the card game.

"Damn, I wish I could play with you." Rosary half-smiled.

"You can." Esmeralda said. "There's room for one more."

"I can't." Rosary put on her jacket and began to walk to the front of the RV. "It's my turn to drive."

Wednesday and her grandmother shrugged, continuing their poker game.

"I win." Wednesday lied her remaining cards down.

" _Damn you."_ Máma grumbled, reaching into her pocket for the money she now owed Wednesday whilst Wednesday began to deal again for another game.

….

"I'm so glad I'm able to talk to you." Shadow grinned as he sat with Morticia on a log, outside of the RV.

"Why, thank you, Shadow." Morticia replied. "And I, you."

"I know you're probably very worried for your son." Shadow said, deciding to at first, take a sympathetic approach.

"I am." Morticia told him. "Thank you for helping us."

"It's our pleasure." Shadow's voice dropped an octave with intended sensuality. "You should know," He said. "I find you incredibly enchanting."

Morticia looked away, flattered. "Thank you."

"It must be hard for you, being without all of your family." Shadow put a hand on her leg.

"It is." Morticia admitted. "But, I'm trying not to worry." She paused. "It isn't working."

Shadow cocked his head. "Do you like art, Morticia?"

Morticia nodded. "Oh, yes. I adore it. I used to paint as a child, with my father."

"I'm sure your work was beautiful." Shadow complimented. "Seeing as you like art, I think you might like mine."

Morticia raised an eyebrow.

"Would you like to see it?" Shadow asked her.

"Of course." Morticia responded.

At her words, Shadow removed his shirt, exposing his several tattoos.

"They're magnificent." Morticia's eyes enlarged at the sight of the raven on his arm, and extending to his chest. "It's a raven."

"That was my first one." Shadow set his shirt on the log. "I've always loved ravens."

"As have I." Morticia responded. "Beautiful creatures, they really are. My favourite birds, besides vultures."

"Vultures, really?" Shadow shrugged, now planning for his next tattoo. "Interesting."

Morticia ran her hand over the raven, tracing it's pattern. "It's a wonderful piece of art."

Shadow smirked, happy to finally get her alone… even if he couldn't just yet.

….

"Ash?" Gomez sat alone -for now- in the chair in the spare bedroom.

Ash walked in, casually. "We'll be leaving in a bit. Go figure, we're having engine trouble when we're fucking ten miles away." She shook her head.

"Thank you." Gomez stood from the chair. "Actually, I was wondering if I could speak with you, privately?"

Ash raised an eyebrow, confused; but she obliged and shut the bedroom door behind her. "Everything alright, Gomez?"

"Yes, I… I think so." Gomez decided. "Ash, I observed the… argument between you and Rosary a couple of nights ago."

"Oh, sorry about that." Ash shook her head. "She can be a handful. But, I adore her."

"I understand." Gomez laughed. "This may sound strange. But I feel that, I can understand you. I want to talk to you. I think I can… help you."

"I don't need any help." Ash's eyes were instantly downcast. "With all due respect, Gomez, you don't know anything about me."

"That's what I used to say." Gomez told her, not looking away from her.

Ash looked back at him. "What?"

"I believe I can relate to you, Ash." Gomez told her. "I know what it's like to… lose people."

Ash's resolve seemed to slowly deteriorate, but her guard was still high up. "What does this have to do with my argument with Rosary?"

"It has to do with your argument with Rosary because, I think, you have scars, Ash." Gomez confessed. "I think that you've been hurt, more than once. And I think that you're urge to protect the one you love, who understands you… your angel; is stronger than a thousand hurricanes. But, I believe that your urge to protect her, can turn into control."

Ash was shocked.

This man, whom she only had known for the past two days… had gotten everything exactly right about her.

How?

"I…" Ash swallowed, hard. "That may be true."

Gomez nodded. "I know what that means." He said. "You don't have to worry about talking to me. I promise, I am not going to betray you. I have no reason to." He grinned. "I'd like to think of us as friends, no?"

Ash smiled. "You know, you're incredibly charming." She shook her head. "And I'm a lesbian."

"Thank you, I try." Gomez chuckled. "Will you talk to me?"

"I won't talk to anyone except Rosary."

Gomez said nothing… simply waited.

Ash double-checked that the door was locked; and she sighed, turning back to him. "And now you." She crossed her arms. "I…" She sat on the bed, not breaking eye-contact with him. "My mother was an alcoholic… _slut_. She smoked," Ash shook her head. "DNA, amiright?" She continued speaking. "Primarily cigarettes. She liked to put 'em out on my father. My father… he was good. He kept her away from us. But we were kids… and we couldn't keep her away from him."

Gomez stepped closer to her, still far enough to give her space but close enough to let her know he was listening.

"They were killed when I was fifteen. Both of them, at exactly the same time." Ash's arms loosened a bit. "My mother apparently snorted coke like it was her job; she got it in the wastelands." She explained. "She didn't pay the money she borrowed back that she used to buy it. They ripped her heart out and they burned it, and did the same to my father." She said. "But, I always took care of Crimson, ever since she was born. So, I thought, why stop now? I took her out to the woods for a while, we lived in a little abandoned cottage out by where the… wolves are, mostly. Then, I met Rosary when I was seventeen… Shadow came on the scene when I was nineteen. And they helped me raise that girl. They helped me raise her until… I couldn't anymore. Because she was gone."

Gomez nodded in understanding. "She saved you?"

"Rosary?" Ash asked, playing with the curled strand of hair before her face. "Hell… I would be dead without her. She's the soul thing I live for. I used to live for her, and Crimson. If I didn't have her, when I lost Crimson… I'd have nothing to live for. I wouldn't, _be_ living."

"That, I can understand more than anything you've said so far." Gomez told her.

"How?" Ash kept her arms cross, but… looser. She stared into his eyes. "What happened to you?"

Gomez gave a small, short, somewhat bitter laugh. "Misfortune, from the time I was sixteen until I met my Tish." He elucidated: "I was very close with my older brother, Fester."

Ash said nothing, seeing as this family obviously had a… thing for unusual name choices.

"We did everything together from the time I was… born, really. I looked up to him, but he never knew that." Gomez confessed. "I may have been the one to charm the women but he was… he was a good man, in his way. He was smart; he knew everything there was to know about explosives. He would go and do anything he wanted to, even if he made an utter fool of himself doing it." Gomez reminisced. "And our parents were wonderful, other than the fact that my father was addicted to gambling for a while. He stopped when I was eleven, because he almost lost us half of the family fortune. My mother stopped him. She was a wonderful woman. Morticia and I have always wished the children could have known them better." He sighed. "But, tell that to an angry mob." Then… his features darkened. "Fester and I had our disagreements. I tied him to a tree and pulled out four of his permanent teeth; he choked me until I lost consciousness and had to be put on a respirator."

Ash cocked her head. "That's fair."

Gomez nodded, in agreement. "We were little terrors; even getting sent to Camp Custer for preteen offenders." His features darkened. "And then, we attended the party at Debutant Hall. We met the Amour twins. Conjoined twins, Flora and Fauna. Fester was a virgin, I… wasn't. I was an egotistical, overly prideful sixteen-year-old with no concept of how he might have felt if I wooed them both. I did. I regret that every day of my life."

"What happened?" Ash asked.

"He had had enough. And he left." Gomez answered. "He walked away from the family, from me." He paused. "Twenty-three years ago." He said, then: "I became a bigger male slut than I already was. I went with every woman who I found remotely attractive and who wanted a good night. I drank, I acted out… the only thing I didn't do was hurt my family more than I inadvertently already was." His features brightened a bit. "And then I met my black angel, my Tish. We met and became engaged in one night."

Ash's eyes enlarged.

"The instant I met her, I knew I had to make her mine. We bonded to each other that night in every way possible, and I knew I couldn't live without her. She helped me, she loved me for everything that I was… and she _saved me_. I changed for her. The day I found her was the day other women were nothing more to me than a friendly face and someone to respect. But my Tish, she is everything." He stepped closer to Ash. "And my urge to protect her is _strong_."

"So strong that you'd risk her being angry with you just so she wouldn't get hurt." Ash understood him more than she'd ever understood any other man.

"The woman I would never say _no_ to."

"And no matter much you try to explain that its for her protection, you still seem so _controlling_." Ash discontinued playing with her hair.

"You explain, you do everything you can. You _cannot lose_ -"

"The only person you could ever love." The two said in unison.

Gomez nodded.

"If you did, your life would see its end."

"You couldn't move, couldn't breathe." Gomez added,

"Couldn't see anything but the grave ahead of you." Ash shook her head.

"Loving her, living for her pleasure, desperate to make her happy."

"My angel."

"My everything."

"Gomez?" Ash broke the flow of their… whatever it was, but refused not to meet his eyes. "I don't want Rosary to think I don't trust her judgement. Or that I'm trying to control her, I just… wouldn't forgive myself if anything happened to her."

"I understand completely." Gomez replied, taking her hands. "And if you will allow me, I would like to give you some advice."

Ash nodded and stood up.

"Tell her, _really_ tell her. Tell her everything and keep _nothing_ from her. Explain to her why you do what you do, and try to do it… _differently_." Gomez said. " _Listen_ to her, listen to _everything_ she has to say before you get upset that she could have endangered herself, or that she could. Try to understand her, and understand that she… is going to be alright. Don't give in always. Like if she wants to go cliff-diving with a broken parachute."

"Of course." Ash concurred.

"Everyone knows you do it with a working parachute, with no parachute or not at all." Gomez added. "But, try to understand that she adores your protection, but she can protect herself. I…" He sighed, admitting: "have trouble with this one. My querida is strong, and her life was not at all easy… sometimes, it still isn't. No matter how many times I tell myself she can also be her own protector, I step in and attempt at commandeering that protection, and labeling myself as her protector."

Ash appeared defeated.

" _But,"_ Gomez continued. "I remind myself the main reason I call her my black angel. And it is not because of her voice. It's because _she saved me_. She saved me from destruction and she continues to, _time and time again_. And if she can _restart_ a heart as _frozen_ as mine used to be… she can walk down the street on her own."

Ash's face was so very close to his own.

And wasn't it amazing?

She had never had a friend other than Shadow… and this man, this mortal man knew as much about her as her own angel. And he used it to help her, in ways she never thought she could be helped… until now.

"You're right." Ash nearly had tears in her eyes, but she held them back. "Thank you."

Gomez smiled. "We're very similar, you and I. We have been through our own, personal Hells and yet we know that the only true Hell would be being without our angels."

Ash nodded. "I… can I just go kind of off-topic for a second?"

"Anything you want." Gomez replied.

"I remember when… Crimson and I used to run around with the wolves whenever we saw them." Ash reminisced. "They liked us. We were the only ones who weren't afraid of them. We shared part of our dinners with them." She smiled. "Crimson used to call this little, baby one we always saw, _White Rabbit_. She said it was because just like the thing from the story, he got all of the other baby wolves to follow him even though they had no idea where he was going." She laughed. "One day, they all… crashed into a tree, following him. We bandaged them up, helped them out…" She sighed. "Like what I did for her, only backwards."

Gomez wore an empathetic expression. "Fester and I used to sneak out to the train room past our bedtimes. We would stay up all night, placing dynamite below the bridge or around the curve. We would run the trains smoothly for a while. Fester always said we were… luring the little men inside them into a false sense of security." He shook his head. "But we always ended up crashing the trains… one way or another, they went up in smoke." He sighed. "That's what I did to Fester. What he did to me, when he left." He thought for a moment, then spoke again. " _My son is missing._ My son is missing and still, Tish and I pull through. Without her, I would not exist… and despite _our missing child_ , the only way either of us know how to survive it is by doing it together."

"I get it." Ash responded. "I was _devastated_ , _heart-shattered_ when Crimson was taken. The only way I was able to endure it was with… _by_ , Rosary."

Gomez was correct about the connection he had shared with Rosary. It was strong… and… there was a level of extreme understanding.

And… despite the odds, compassion for one another unlike almost anything they'd felt before.

"You will be alright, Ash." Gomez gripped her shoulders. "Don't forget what I've advised you to do. And don't do anything you will regret. Rosary's soul is _bonded_ with yours. Don't try to control your other half."

There were tears in Ash's eyes now. "Thank you _, Gomez."_ She embraced him, crying. "Thank you."

Gomez hugged her back. "You're welcome, Ash." He smiled. _"Thank_ you

Ash broke the embrace as soon as she dried her tears and walked to the door, opening it. "I have to go help Rosary fix the engine." She explained. "Go outside and tell Morticia we'll be driving again soon."

" _What?"_ Gomez asked before Ash exited.

"She's been outside talking to Shadow for like, the past twenty minutes." Ash told him.

"I see."

Gomez hastily exited the room, then uncovering the window and looking out to see Morticia, fascinated and running her pale, delicate hand over the tattoo of a raven on Shadow's arm… and chest.

Gomez cleared his throat and abruptly shut the blinds, turning to Ash. "If you will excuse me?"

Ash gestured to the door of the RV. "Go. And feel free to tear Shadow apart." She winked. "I'll understand."

Gomez took a deep breath. "Thank you." He walked to the door of the RV, opening it, then… and exiting.

"Is that a wolf on your back?" Morticia asked, intrigued… and knowing Gomez was feet away.

" _Skull."_ Shadow corrected. "In wolf's clothing."

"Interesting."

Morticia was about to take a look at it when she heard _Ah-hem_ … coming from her husband, standing over her.

Shadow stiffened, attempting to prevent himself from sweating.

Morticia remained calm, waiting.

"Tish? Would you please accompany me over there please?" Gomez extended a hand.

"Over where?" Morticia questioned and took his hand.

"Far away." Gomez ragefully glared at Shadow.

He gently pulled Morticia up, then… leading her over behind an oak tree, many… many yards away from Shadow.

" _What was that?"_ Gomez asked, jealousy thickening his accent.

"What was what?" Morticia inquired, coyly.

"Why was your hand on his chest?" The vein in Gomez's forehead protruded, slightly.

"He was showing me his tattoos." Morticia replied.

Gomez's hands began to assist in animating his words. "He is a _tool_ , not a hands-on art exhibit."

"Jealous, mon cher?" Morticia raised an eyebrow.

" _Yes."_ Gomez admitted. "You're-" He bit his lip.

"What?" Morticia questioned.

"Flirtatious." Gomez said.

"I am not flirtatious." Morticia replied, evenly… not angered in the slightest. "I'm friendly."

"Tish, you know as well as I do that _that_ ," He pointed out to where Shadow sat, now afraid for his life. "was _not_ friendly."

"He offered. I didn't ask." Morticia told him.

"It doesn't matter that he offered!" Gomez put a hand on his head. " _Do you know how he has been looking at you?_ He puts his hand… _on your leg_ , and he had his arm around you by the fire last night, _again_! He's completely shameless!"

" _So was she."_ Morticia's words slipped out… rare, for her.

But perhaps they simply had to be said.

"What?" Gomez asked.

"So was Regina." Morticia stiffened. "All through her stay, her hands were on you as much as they could be. She talked to you, privately. She took you away from me whenever she got the chance." She met his eyes. "I was jealous for weeks."

Gomez closed his eyes, sighing with incredible guilt. "Querida… I'm sorry." He shook his head. "My reasons don't change what I did. My black angel, I never intended to make you jealous… or to hurt you. I only intended to protect you. And I know, I shouldn't have lied to you or… allowed Regina to make me leave you at times when all you wanted was for me to hold you, and physically adore you…" He placed worshipping hands on her hips. "Mi encantadora, I will never stop trying to make this up to you."

Morticia never looked away from him. "I never meant to hurt you."

"You didn't." Gomez assured her. "Although Shadow may mysteriously end up dead somewhere but I would never blame you for that." He kissed her hand, then placing his hands back on her hips.

Morticia smirked. "You're always saying you would kill for me."

"That I would, cara mia." Gomez grinned.

Morticia leaned in closer and put a hand on his chest. "I missed you, terribly when you weren't with me…" She half-smiled, a bit sadly… her nails drumming on his chest. "And I miss…"

Gomez held her, close to him and held the hand that was pressed to his chest, encouraging her to tell him.

"I miss what you used to call me." Morticia finally said.

Gomez felt absolutely terrible. He knew exactly what she meant before she even elaborated, and he felt like a bastard times one thousand.

He stopped calling her… because of… _vampires_.

"Do you know what her name means in Latin?" Morticia asked.

"I do." Gomez paused, passion for his black angel, burning in his eyes. " _And I don't give a damn._ Tish, that woman's name may mean _queen_ but she isn't mine. She _never_ will be." He promised, squeezing her hand. " _You are._ You will _always_ be."

Morticia smiled. "I've known that since that first night we met… but I needed to hear that." She admitted.

"Yo usted culto, _mi reina_." Gomez brought her hand to his lips, beginning to kiss her fingers and work his way to her wrist.

Morticia completely melted at his words… at that name. " _I missed that_ … very, _very_ much."

"I will never again stop calling you any one of those treasured names, my darling. I am _so_ sorry." Gomez's held her, tightly and kissed her neck. " _Never_ , ever again."

"I know." Morticia closed her eyes, happy to have finally let everything out.

"Mmm… _mi reina_." Gomez lifted her up, bridal style.

Then, he carried her back into the RV -knowing their ten-mile departure would begin as soon as the engine was running once again-, then taking her into their guest bedroom and locking the door behind him.

As soon as he did, Morticia paused. "Gomez?" She took a deep breath.

Gomez met her eyes. "Querida?"

"There's something else I miss." Morticia was beggining to feel her mood change and her heart was beggining to ache.

Gomez's face fell, feeling reality's bloody history creep upon him. He cupped Morticia's cheeks and kissed her head. Knowing the answer, but understanding his wife had to say it, he asked: "What?"

Morticia sawllowed, hard. "I miss Pugsley." She closed her eyes, steadying herself against her husband. "I have been trying, desperately to take my mind off of this... _I can't_. Gomez, Pugsley is our son. He's my little boy and he's _gone_ because of her."

"I know, Tish."

It was funny; Morticia had explained so much of what her husband was feeling when describing her own. Her soul bound to his... bonded _with_ his.

"My dearest, I know. As have I." Gomez held her chin, gently and stared into her dark orbs of mystery... and now, fear, and love... and passion. "I miss him terribly. Every time I am alone, I am haunted by what has happened." He admitted. He paused. "Do you remember last night?"

Morticia nodded.

"I fell into a flood of tears the minute you fell asleep." Gomez could not help but tell her.

He needed her just like she needed him; she was his black angel. His saving grace. His reason for breathing and for remaining stable.

Remaining stable.

Morticia began to feel her own tears attemting to fall, but she refused to allow it. "I'm sorry, Gomez."

"Why? Tish, _none of this_ is your fault, cara mia." Gomez assured her. "I feel guilty, and powerless, and afraid. But that is not your fault." He took her hand, bringjng it to his lips. "You are all that is keeping me from insanity right now."

"Sometimes going mad sounds like a more reasonable option." Morticia confessed. "But then I remember our son."

Gomez nodded, squeezing her hand.

"The truth is, Gomez, I don't know what to do." Morticia blinked back the tears she refused to allow to fall. "I try to take my mind off of this for the sake of my sanity... but underneath that, I feel guilty. I think about it, and it send me into a spiral because what if we _don't get him back_ and we _lose_ him because of her? I would fall apart, Gomez, _we can't lose him_!" She cried. Out of breath now, from speaking the terrible, fearful words she had been to afraid to say., she cried.

Gomez felt that guilty... sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, now move to his breaking heart. Another blow to the thing and the once steadily beating symbol of love may just shatter.

Doing the first thing he knew he could do, he embraced her, holding her and attempting to soothe her as she cried into his shoulder.

"I know, querida. I know..." He closed his eyes. "We are _not_ going to lose Pugsley. I promise. I promise, we will..." He shook his head as the remaining tears from last night fell. "We will make sure of that."

Morticia wrapped her arms around his neck, forcing herself to get a grip on everything she could. "I can't... I can't lose him, Gomez. I can't."

"I know. And you won't." Gomez promised her. " _We_ won't." He kissed her head. "I will be damned if we do," _And perhaps if we don't._ He thought.

"Gomez?" Morticia held onto him tighter.

"Yes, my black angel?"

"Can we just... sit down for a couple of minutes?" Morticia's voice sounded completely broken... completely heartshattered.

"Of course, my dearest." Gomez led her over to the bed. "We're going to sit... and you're going to get some rest, alright?" He sat on the bed, extending his arms to her.

Morticia practically fell into her husband's lap, curling up against him and attempting to regain control of herself.

Control of everything that she couldn't.

….

The RV had been rocking for the past three minutes, as that was when driving had again, commenced.

Gomez, however, held his reina in his arms, as tight as he possibly could.

"Mon amour," Morticia began. "I couldn't survive this without you." By now, she had at least gotten control of _herself_.

"Or I without you, my darling." Gomez pushed her hair over her shoulder. "I know how you miss him, mi encantadora. But we have to be strong." He held her tighter. "And you're very good at that."

"Thank you, mon cher." Morticia's nails drummed, lightly against his chest. "It seems like every day that goes by is a lifetime of misery." She shook her head. "And without our son, that means nothing."

"Well we're going to have him back soon." Gomez swore. "And then we will be able to share a thousand lifetimes of misery with _both_ of our children."

Morticia smiled. "Well now, we can't go mad before that happens."

"No." Gomez kissed her neck. "We can't."

Morticia let out a contended sigh. "I love you, Gomez." Her voice was little more than a whisper.

Gomez looked down at her, his expression melancholy due to history, and reality. "I love you too, Tish." His lips met hers, passionately. "I love you with all of my soul."

Morticia stroked his cheek. "It's going to be alright." She nodded, attempting to convince both he and herself.

"Of course it will." Gomez kissed her palm. "It will."

The door opened.

There Wednesday stood.

She placed her hands over her eyes.

"Mother, father." Wednesday greeted them. "Is this a bad time?" She asked, understanding by now, how involved her parents were.

"No, Wednesday." Morticia assured her. "Not at all."

Wednesday uncovered her eyes and found they were just... lying there.

She blinked twice, confused but spoke anyway. "Mother?"

"Yes, darling?" Morticia asked.

"I need to talk to you." Wednesday finally said.

Morticia's perfect eyebrow arched. "Is everything alright?"

Wednesday was hesitant when she nodded. "Yes… everything is… fine, mother." She replied, lying a bit. "I just need to talk to you."

Morticia knew her daughter was keeping something from her. But she figured she was likely going to find out what it was soon.

"Of course, Wednesday." Morticia said. "I'll meet you in your guest bedroom shortly, dear."

"Alright. Thank you, mother." Wednesday responded, exiting the bedroom as quick as she could and shutting the door behind her.

Gomez ran his hand over Morticia's back. "What do you think that could have been about?" He asked.

Morticia shook her head. "I'm not sure." She admitted. "I'd… better go talk to her." She decided, although reluctant to move from her position.

Gomez only wrapped his arms around his wife tighter and left a trail of kisses from her jaw to her shoulder.

Morticia laughed, her husband being the only one who could bring that out of her at a time like this. " _Before_ we park." She half-playfully hit his arm.

"Alright, mi hermosa diosa." Gomez released her, planting one last kiss on her cheek before she crawled out of the bed.

Morticia was about to exit the room when she turned back to her amour. She smoothed down her hair as she spoke. "I miss the way he enters our room, unsuspectingly and can be so adorably apologetic in one breath and so sophisticatedly homicidal in the next."

Gomez, picking up on her reminiscence of their son in his absence, followed along with her. "Or that expression he gets when he blows up… anything, really."

"Especially the trains when he sneaks down there." Morticia added.

 _"Rascal."_ Gomez chuckled and shook his head. "I love how beautifully contradictory to himself he is. How he can strive to make everyone so happy one minute, and the next… get blood-splatter all over the corpse of Cousin Cordelia."

Morticia took a deep breath. "Pugsley can't… not be alright, Gomez. He has to be." She said. "Everything we've built pertaining to this family, would mean nothing without our beautiful children. Either of them. They're… our first witch and our darling little table number one."

"And Pugsley _will_ be alright." Gomez promised.

"He will be." Morticia nodded. "He has to be." She added: "And I am going to kill that woman for what she's done to him."

"That should do it." Gomez chuckled, using humour as his sheild for now. He got up out of bed and approached her, placing his hands on her hips. "Tell me if you or Wednesday need anything."

Morticia smirked. "Of course." She kissed him. "Je t'aime, mon diable."

"Te amo, mi reina." Gomez opened the door for her.

And then Morticia exited the room... looking to speak with her daughter.

….

Dark orbs of mystery. Disguised, dark orbs of mystery.

Long legs. Short, long legs.

Lithe figure. Not curvy… but lithe.

Pale lips. Uncovered, pale lips.

Makeup. Internal, rather than external… makeup.

Raven hair. A shade off from midnight.

Pale white skin. Ghostly… but not as white as the fallen snow.

Crimson nails. Crimson.

Crimson.

Crimson.

Wednesday Addams' nails… were crimson.

Her nails were crimson, and her visions were eating her alive.

It seemed like so long ago that she had had them… but she _had_ had them.

She had had them, and now she couldn't sleep without worrying about more of them (not that more had come… yet). She could almost never look her mother in the eyes anymore without getting that… chill.

She knew, now, that everything she had seen had been real. But… it all felt so, very, unreal.

Morticia was her _mother_. The last thing Wednesday wished to witness was the trauma she went through. The last thing she wanted to know was why her mother had one morning every month where she got out of bed later than usual… but the only noise coming from her and her parent's bedroom was murmured whispers of assurance and _It's_ _alright, my darling. I'm right here._ from her father.

She had never dared to ask why. Had she ever (as horrible as it sounded, now…) cared?

Of course, Wednesday cared about her mother. But she also cared about her mother's privacy, and… and… and who was she fooling? She cared about her mother, yes. But she also cared about her childhood. She was twelve. She liked playing Hide and Shriek, and hooking her younger brother up to the electric chair, and torturing unsuspecting boy scouts until their scout master came and broke up the fun.

The young girl was not ignorant. If her family had a problem that she was aware of, she would not hesitate to assist them. But she was also still a child. A sophisticated, mature child… but a child.

And she saw… everything her mother had been through. She had witnessed things she had… never thought to wish to witness.

But she had.

And she had been struggling with what she had seen long enough.

It was time to talk to her mother.

She heard the door open… and looked up from where she sat on the small armchair in the corner of the room… to watch her mother gently shut it behind her.

She was… in two words: an enchantment.

And this didn't ease Wednesday's rattled mind about being like her. Rather (for whatever reason) … it worried her more.

"Wednesday, darling?" Morticia approached her, gliding across the room. "I'm sorry it's taken me so long." She apologized, smoothing down her hair. "What is it that you'd like to talk about?"

Wednesday avoided her mother's eyes.

And this did not go unnoticed by her now concerned mother.

"Thank you for coming, mother." Wednesday sat straight up.

Morticia was taken aback by such formality. "Of course, darling. You know I'm always here to talk to you. I would never just… not come."

Wednesday nodded. "Mother?"

"Yes, Wednesday?" Morticia crossed her arms, elegantly.

"I…" Wednesday could not believe the trouble she was having at speaking to her own mother.

But _this_ … _this_ , was… different.

"I had…" She shook her head, starting over. "I always get the same amount of sleep every night. But, a few nights ago I got…" Again, she shook her head and made another attempt at explanation. "I never asked you about… where that song came from-" Wednesday sighed. "A few nights ago, I had… I woke up at 3:30…"

Morticia raised an eyebrow. "Wednesday- "

"I had visions about your past!" Wednesday blurted out, cutting her mother off.

"Pardon?" Morticia asked, concerned.

"I had visions about your past, mother." Wednesday reiterated. "I thought they were dreams, at first but then, I saw… things. I saw you, in my mirror. And you looked younger. You had me as a… baby, in your arms. And you were singing me that song… The Moon." She recalled. "The night before, I had several drea- _visions_ , and they all faded into each other. But the first one was of this man who looked a lot like you. And he held this baby in his arms in this bedroom that had you written all over it. And he was singing The Moon."Morticia's eyes widened as her daughter continued speaking.

"He kissed the baby girl's head after he placed her in the cradle, and before he walked out of the room he whispered: Goodnight, Morticia." Wednesday was on a verbal train, and she would not have allowed it to stop nor derail, even if it had been hijacked by every girl scout in America.

Fortunately for her, it had not been.

"He was your father. I realized that in the second dream because the name, Charles, popped into my head." She said. "You were a young child in that dream… and he was reading you The Tell-Tale Heart."

Morticia felt a pang in her own heart but allowed her daughter to continue speaking.

"But your mother came in and told you it was time for bed. I couldn't believe it was Máma but it… was." For the first time in her life, Wednesday was ever-so-slightly animated… and obviously upset. "She seemed to really love your father but she seemed sort-of… distant from you. She had finished reading to… your sister, I guess. The one you never talk about, Ophelia." She told her, as if her mother had others. "Well, anyway then the dream faded into… another one. And mother, it was awful. I felt… everything. It was when your father died. I felt the pain, and the heartbreak… and the isolation. It felt like my entire world was crashing down around me and I couldn't breathe, couldn't move… couldn't do anything but- "

"Agonize… and feel so… alone." She and her mother said in unison.

Wednesday froze. "What?"

"The unspeakable kind of darkness… the sheer isolation, the coldness… _begging_ any power that exists not to take the only one who you truly have in this world but it…" Morticia fought back tears as her mind nearly reverted to the dram. _"It does."_ She practically whispered.

Wednesday was speechless.

How…?

"When did you have this dream- _vision_?" Morticia asked her daughter.

"The night before Pugsley was… taken." Wednesday answered.

Morticia nodded. "As did I."

Wednesday gulped.

No. No… this was too much… too much and she wasn't even finished yet!

"I see." She cleared her throat. "After that dream, I saw all of these different… parts of your life. It happened before your father died. Only that time, it was… so much better." She still refused to meet her mother's eyes. "I saw that you became a waitress with that friend of yours, Hailie. And you supported your family, and you were so… hurt, and sad and…" She exhaled, shortly. "then you were harassed by these drunk men when you were walking home by yourself one night. And they were… awful, to you. One of them had an accent; he talked too much." Wednesday described. "They pushed you against a wall. But the whole time, you never stopped… fighting. You spit on the one man, Charlie -which is something I've never even… thought of you doing; not that he didn't deserve it-, and he unbuttoned his pants and I felt… fear. Complete fear and hatred and… disgust for everything that was happening until it… didn't happen. Hailie saved you. She pretended she had a gun."

Morticia was floored, and… terribly upset, internally.

How dare the universe allow her daughter to see-

Wednesday was not through.

"You walked home with Halie that night. You just brushed yourself off when they left like nothing… could have happened." Wednesday shifted. "It was your birthday."

Morticia put a hand over her mouth.

And it was at this moment, that any doubts Wednesday could possibly have still had about her visions indeed being just those… that those doubts were gone, dead and externally buried.

By her mother's reaction… it had to be true.

"Then, after all of the terrible parts… everything changed. I saw a bit of when you met father." Wednesday explained. "I never could understand what love… felt like but I felt it radiating off of you when I had those visions. It was like… he saved you from… yourself. And everything in your life. It was like… like he loved you, but you didn't have to worry he would hurt you or leave you." She told her mother. "And then I witnessed the day you told him you were pregnant with me. And at first you talked about some lawyer named Mr. Winchester who you wanted… Tully, to replace."

Morticia removed her hand from her mouth… and stiffened.

"Father was so worried about you that he didn't even register that you'd told him you were pregnant until… a few seconds after you had told him." Wednesday recalled. "And you were both… ecstatic. You told him which room you wanted to be… mine. And he was -as always- completely adoring and receptive to anything you wanted." She said. "And then that vision faded into… a vision with you, holding me as a baby and singing The Moon. And the room looked perfect for an Addams, with everything a little girl could want. And you had on your wedding ring, and… that ring from your father."

Morticia couldn't think of a suitable response.

Mostly, she was angry.

She was angry at the world for showing her daughter what she had worked herself to the heart, to make sure her children never had to see… let alone, experience.

The world. She was angry at the world.

The bloody, cold, cruel world which had taken her father from her, had robbed her of her teenage years and had forced her into so many undesired, uncalled for, unwanted… unloved… traumatic instances that she could write an autobiography about it.

But she was too private a person to do such a thing.

She was also worried.

She was worried of what this would do to her daughter… what this had done to her already. She was afraid that her daughter would have that same trauma… or see her as… weak, in some aspects.

And that terrified her. It terrified her more than those drunk bastards from the bar she once worked at ever had.

She was… heartbroken.

Heartbroken that her daughter had been suffering in silence. Confused, and searching for answers to subconscious inquiries, that no one but her mother had.

"Wednesday, darling…" Morticia's tone was calm, despite her insides being anything but. "Look at me, please, dear."

Wednesday couldn't.

"Darling…" Morticia sighed. "Please."

Wednesday did.

Slowly, she shifted her eyes… and looked directly into her mother's.

And the chill returned.

Morticia spoke once her daughter met her eyes. "I never intended for you to see my… past. _Ever._ I didn't tell you those things because I want you to know me and my strength for who I am… _not because_ of what I've had to endure." She explained. "That, and you're still so young. I don't want my burdens… _my_ _past_ , to leave a mark on yours." She stepped closer to her daughter. " _I love you_ , Wednesday. I love you and I love your brother. And I can't have either of you paying for the life I had. You don't deserve that. I will be _damned_ if that happens to you… either of you."

Wednesday blinked twice.

Her mother was… every word, every _strong, beautiful_ word seemed to pale in comparison to her mother.

"I…" Wednesday swallowed, hard. "In the dream, our eyes met in the mirror." This was the part she dreaded to say out loud. "Our eyes were the same." She nodded. "The exact same."

Morticia almost broke out into a smile.

She had shared something, wonderful… with her daughter. Her daughter was turning out to be everything she had hoped, and then some.

And her eyes… _their_ eyes, were the same. Exactly the same.

Morticia -however- did not break out into that smile, as she noticed the slight inflections in her daughter's tone… and she recognized instantly that it was laced with anxiety.

"Mother, you were… are… _became_ , an enchantment." Wednesday said. "You're strong, and intelligent, and you have a dark sense of humour… and interesting fashion sense. And you're beautiful, and…" She was running out of things to say, so she decided to cut to the chase. "I admire you, greatly. But I…" She nearly looked away, but she did not. "I am terrified of turning into you."

Morticia took a deep breath, not taking offense to this just yet… and hoping she wouldn't have to.

"I don't know if I want to get married or have children, or speak French, or…" Wednesday shook her head. "I don't know if I can handle all of the responsibilities you… have. And I didn't even realize what half of them were until those visions. But now, I can't stop thinking about them because if I'm turning into you, that means I'll have them. And I'll have to go through some type of hell and I don't know what that is. I don't… _want_ to. I don't want everything you do. I like looking a bit different, like… _myself_. And I'd rather sit down and play poker with Máma than watch Hellraiser -not that it isn't a good movie." She was nearly out of breath. " _I'm scared_ , mother." She admitted, for the first time in her life. She paused. "Our nails…" She held out her hand, placing it on her lap. "they're the exact same colour, nonpurposefully. But they're the exact same colour." She squinted, her face slowly evening out as she spoke. "I was never afraid to _be like_ you… but I was afraid to _be_ you. And now because of these visions, I'm sometimes afraid to associate with you at all because it's bringing me closer to the inevitable."

Morticia felt terrible that her daughter was going through this.

But a small part of her was relieved… that is wasn't anything worse.

"Wednesday?" Morticia walked over to the bed, and sat down atop it, sideways. "Sit."

Wednesday got up from her chair and did as bade.

Morticia placed a porcelain, delicate hand on her daughter's leg. "Wednesday," She looked into her eyes. "I never… come heaven or highwater, would allow you to go through anything like I did. I would never allow you to be… traumatized, or brutalized or… _used_ by those who love you… or say they do. Not if I have anything to do about it." She promised. "I went through all of that, not by choice. And I love Máma, more than she'll ever understand. But I didn't have a mother, for the first seventeen years of my life… that saw me and asked me if I was alright or how I truly felt after the death of my father. My mother and my sister -one of which who loved me- didn't show it after my father died. They didn't help me, or try to heal me; they utilized me." She stated. "I am never going to do that to you or to Pugsley. _I learned_ , from that. I am going to let you two be children and be close. Like your father, I had… sibling-oriented issues, although they were vastly different from his. I have a feeling -as _angry_ as I sometimes feel at your father's brother- that he loved him before _he_ left." She sighed. "Wednesday, I don't want you to fear being _like_ me. _Being me exactly_ , is a reasonable fear but it isn't rational. You can't turn into me. You _won't_ turn into me, whether or not you dress like me, walk, talk, act like me, or not. Either way, you're going to end up becoming an _older_ , _evolved_ version of yourself… with some things you learned from me that make that up." Morticia smiled at her. "You and I are quite similar and there is no denying that. But, darling, you are… _different_ from me. Your eyes are exactly like mine but you have this beautiful, soulless glare that I could never have. You have some different interests. I liked chopping the heads off of my dolls, and so do you. But you also like to put them through Saw-like torture sessions. I would have been interested in that, but I was too busy reading dark poetry and practicing the fine art of taxidermy." She said. "That isn't all, there are many more. But, Wednesday… I am trying to let you know that every one of your differences are wonderful, and contribute to your overall uniqueness." Morticia sat, straight-backed. "I know that right now you're worried about being like me because you think, somehow, that will turn you into me." She took her hand, their nail colour of exactly the same shade… now exposed. "But no matter how similar or different you are, I can assure you that you won't. All I want to do, darling, is guide you, love you and prepare you for the rest of your life, whether or not it's anything like mine. I just want you to know that I hope you retain everything I've taught you… and you don't try to change what _is_ like me. Because that also makes you, you."

Wednesday had shown more emotion in this conversation with her mother than she ever had in her life.

Close to tears, but not enough to let them out, she looked away and met her mother's eyes again.

And the chill was gone. The chill was gone for good.

Wednesday didn't know what to say just then.

So -yet again, out of character- she wrapped her arms around her mother, and she embraced her.

Morticia hugged her daughter back, holding her close and thanking everything there could possibly be to thank that she and Gomez had created their macabre, magnificent, beautiful, homicidal daughter.

"I want to be like you." Wednesday said.

Morticia smiled and held her closer. " _Thank you_ , darling." She laughed. "I had hoped you would."

Then, soon, their hug was over.

But their conversation was not.

"Why _did_ I see those visions?" Wednesday questioned.

"Well," Morticia began. "you likely had the visions because you were stressed. Meaning, you've been sneaking into the magick room and practicing, even though you haven't even turned thirteen yet."

Wednesday was back to being as monotone as ever once again. "I have. But, I have a good defense."

Morticia raised an eyebrow. _"Mmm."_

"Máma has been teaching me magick."

 _"What?"_ Morticia was shocked, yet unsurprised.

"She said you were alright with it." Wednesday replied. "I didn't ask, but her exact words were: _Ah, you're old enough! Come on, honey, let's go learn some magick. Now, here's how to poison your neighbour, Tom the Jehovah's witness, without actually pouring into the tea he doesn't invite you to have._ Then she paused and said: _Don't worry, your mother's alright with it._ "

"Yes, well I have a feeling I'm going to need to use that poisoning spell on Máma if she continues to go behind my back." Morticia sighed. "All I want to do is teach my little girl black magick. Is that so hard of a request?"

"It seems fairly reasonable." Wednesday responded, honestly. She then played with her hands a bit and squinted, appearing to be rather upset.

"Are you alright, darling?" Morticia asked her.

"No, mother." Wednesday confessed. "Unfortunately, I've realized that I… _miss_ Pugsley." She told her, tears now welling up in her eyes. "I miss him and I'm worried about him. I act like I can't stand him. And I can't. But I do… _love_ him, _he's my brother_." She buried her head in her mother's shoulder to conceal the first few tears she had cried since she was an infant.

Morticia held her and kissed her forehead. "I know, Wednesday. I know. As do I, and your father… we all do." She felt her heart crack as her daughter's sobs became audible. "Shh, darling… it's alright. Pugsley is going to be alright. We are going to leave here with your brother, and you'll be playing Hide and Shriek just like you used to." She held her daughter tighter, her weeping still not subsiding.

She rubbed her back, planting a kiss atop her head.

Softly, then… Morticia began to sing.

"Oh, whistling, why are you feeling so shy?

Wind comes 'round at dusk and blows 'till night is nigh.

The wolves are hiding,

As drops of snow fall,

But I am so old,

I have lived through it all.

Child, don't cry,

I'll be there soon,

I'll never leave you for I am the moon."

….

Ambrosia (five-foot-six and thin with jet black hair and bright, red eyes) knelt before Regina and ran her tongue over her inner wrist; while Tacito (tall and of African descent with mesmerizing irises of an entrancing red shade) sucked on her neck.

" _It's almost time."_ Ambrosia groaned.

" _Mmm."_ Regina paid little mind to her words, seldom opening her eyes. "Less talking."

"I don't have to obey you." Ambrosia purred, seductively.

"Not yet." Regina smirked.

"How much longer must we wait?" Tacito asked against her skin.

" _Not_ , much longer…" Regina turned her attention to Pugsley… eyes now, shut. "I have to go. But first," She looked back at Tacito. _"Bite me."_

"With pain." Tacito winked and bit down on her neck.

Regina half-sighed and half groaned, orgasmically as both he and Ambrosia fought for the small amount of blood, dripping from her bite.

"Ah… _now_ , I have to go." Regina broke away and slowly walked toward Pugsley. "I have to… _prepare_ , him for consummation." She eyed the vampires, practically attached to Pugsley. _"Enough!"_ She commanded.

Most of them stopped immediately and looked at her.

Some didn't.

" _Narkissa, Calidora, Khanis, Baldassare_ and _Ciro_ , remove your tongues and/or teeth from him. _Now_!" Regina snapped, although her voice remained authoritative.

The vampires who's names had been called instantly did as they had been instructed and joined the hoard with the others.

Regina approached Pugsley, taking time in her long-legged strides.

She was close to him.

So… very, close to him.

"Open your eyes." She ordered, staring daggers into him. _"Now."_

Pugsley's eyes jolted open out of fear at the sound of her voice.

Regina smiled… _her_ smile. "Excellent. You're not bad, are you?"

Pugsley's head rapidly moved up and down, attempting to stabilize his breathing.

"Their blood is always, sweeter when their compliant." Regina ran her hand down Pugsley's cheek, her eyes still staring into his. "Blood… flowing like a glorious red river, just under your skin." She paused. "Blood… what sustains life…" She gripped his chin. "But truly a waste of it." She abruptly removed her hand from his cheek, but not from his face.

Pugsley suppressed a gulp.

Regina noticed the sudden, small change in him. "You loved her, yes?"

Pugsley wished to look away; but where else would he have looked, if not into those red… burning eyes of hers?

He nodded.

"Mmm." Regina laughed, softly. _"Love."_ Her nails lightly tapped his cheek. "It was once said: Love is the most exquisite form of self-destruction." She cocked her head. "That could very well be true. If love were anything more than a lie in itself."

Pugsley -despite his fear- stayed silent, not. He shook his head, in disagreement. "My parents love each other, and they-"

Regina stiffened, digging her nails into his cheek… hard.

Pugsley bit his lip in pain.

"Your parents, love each other. Do they?" Regina's tone was even; and she fought against her urge to grimace, in rage and disgust. "They love each other. And they love you… and your sister. Hmm?"

Pugsley said nothing.

Regina dug her nails in deeper (wishing to any power higher than she that blood could be drawn… and not out of lust), staring intently at him. _"Answer me."_

"Yes." Pugsley replied.

"I can see what Scarlett meant when she told me that you were naïve." Regina remarked.

"What do you mean?" Pugsley asked.

"I assumed she'd told you." Regina replied.

And although Regina was not looking at Scarlett… her daughter could feel her eyes, exactly on her.

"She's the reason you're here right now… strapped to the wall… staring up at what will soon be your demise." Regina said. "You knew that she had betrayed you. But were you fully aware of just how?"

Pugsley's heart hurt more than it already had.

She had used him the _entire_ time! Not a single moment, of any of it… had been real? No. No, it couldn't be… true… and yet- yet here her mother was, telling him the real truth about her deceiving, destroying daughter.

And Pugsley wished to weep and never stop, at this realization.

She was just like Regina.

"It appears you weren't." Briefly, Regina's tone had been mocking. "You see, dear boy… _love_ , it doesn't exist. And certainly, it won't save you." She shook her head. "No. Love's façade will be your destruction, and your blood will be your demise. And _love_ … it isn't going to save you."

Pugsley was now breathing, heavily. Perspiration covered his body.

" _Why?"_ He asked, his voice little more than a whisper.

"Why?" Regina raised an eyebrow, her nails and pale fingers running down his cheek. "We desire blood. We lust for it, and we don't deny it… we _need_ it, to survive." She smirked. "Much like you do."

Pugsley gulped.

"Only, you won't have to worry about that much longer." Regina's burning cold statement was anything but reassuring.

Pugsley did not look away from her… not even as she walked off.

But he was now more afraid than he had ever been. Because deep down… deep down, in the frightened, fiery pits of his broken heart… he had a sinking feeling she was right.

….

The clouds had followed the group on their two-day journey to find him. They knew better than all of them, what the end result would be; however, they did not divulge.

They merely subtly alluded to what the future would hold. And from the colour… the darker, red colour of the atmosphere… it would certainly be no black parade. The only colours of the small band of death and revenge- the small band of _blood_ … would be red. Dark red.

Morticia squeezed Gomez's hand, tightly.

Gomez kissed it. "We'll be there soon, my darling." He whispered.

"I know. I'm just…" Morticia sighed. "Every moment spent walking feels like an eternity."

Gomez nodded. "I understand, querida. Just remember: he is an Addams. He will be alright… and safe, as soon as we get to him." He assured her.

"Our Pugsley never was one to take things lying down." Morticia agreed.

"Exactly." Gomez pressed closer to her. "Tied to a chair and held at knifepoint, yes. But never lying down."

Morticia smiled.

Only he could make her do that, at a moment like this.

"Wednesday and her weapons." Morticia shook her head.

Gomez looked her in the eyes as they walked. "I'm worried to, Tish." He told her, as if she was not already aware.

"He'll be alright, Gomez." Morticia nodded, assuredly (despite she, herself, being very unsure). "But I'm not going to call the kettle black and tell blood not to be red." She said. "But we are going to go in there… and face that woman, and _take back our son_."

Gomez brought her hand to his lips once again. "You are the strongest woman I have ever met, and will ever meet, cara mia."

"Thank you, mon cher." Morticia closed her eyes, and sighed, her worry only tamed by her amour.

"What made you change your mind about Reeden Alley?" Rosary inquired to her beloved.

"I… just, have to learn to be more understanding." Ash replied. "I thought about everything you said, angel. And you're right… about all of it."

"Wow." Rosary smiled. "Admitting your wrongs and being open to change?" She laughed and kissed her. "I love you."

"I love you too, Rose." Ash took her hand.

"Ash?" Wednesday asked, evenly.

"Yea?" Ash answered.

"Look up." Wednesday stopped walking.

As did everyone else.

Every one of them looked up.

Nobody moved.

Nobody talked.

Nobody breathed.

A bloody, gothic, downsized palace.

Tall points with the sigil sign of Lucifer designed in blood red on top of them. Porcelain, black… seemingly, double doors with no line down the middle. A dangerously gloomy outer exterior that would make Dracula, himself, turn the other direction…

The Blood Castle.


	11. Blood Lies, Blood Dies

Chapter 10: Blood Lies, Blood Dies

Pugsley had not torn his eyes away from Regina.

He couldn't.

He couldn't, even when she had told him his family was not coming, that love was a mere façade, that Scarlett had betrayed him and how naïve had he been, that all he could do was wait, in agonizing thought… that he would be dead within the next several minutes.

Regina dug her nails into his sore cheek once more, and smiled… _her smile_ , at him.

Then, slowly… she turned 'round… taking her time… savouring every masochistic, burning moment before ultimate ashen obliteration.

As she turned, she spoke. "Thirteen minutes." She stated, taking a deep, desperate breath in. "Thirteen minutes… and the blood moon will rise."

She turned, fully, then.

And her eyes widened at the sight before her. Or rather, the lack of it.

Her eyes instantly fell upon her daughter.

This was unintentional.

Regina's blazing, red irises and dilated pupils never left her for reasons that differed than those prior.

She looked at her daughter because… because she couldn't look anywhere else.

For there was nothing else in sight.

The ballroom… the feeding room… the ritual room, appeared larger than the castle it was contained in, without them.

It was she, and Scarlett… and the young boy that was to die in thirteen minutes.

Nothing else but the straps that held Pugsley down remained.

" _Where are they?"_ Regina asked, upset. Her voice was laced with anger… and a sense of fear.

"They're gone, mother." Scarlett paused. "They just… vanished. One minute, they were here. And the next…" Her voice trailed off.

" _Where the hell could they have gone?"_ Regina stepped down from the high point of the room and walked to her daughter, her rage bubbling over.

"I don't know, mother." Scarlett shrank back.

"Look at me _, Scarlett."_ Regina ordered.

Scarlett met her eyes once more. "I don't know, really." She said. "They've never left like this before."

"That's because _they can't_." Regina attempted to stabilize her breathing. "We have an agreement, we all do. If they leave, we don't know where they could be. If they leave, _they die_."

Scarlett nodded. "I know, mother. I… I know." She toyed with the curls in her hair. "Is there a way we could carry on without them?"

Regina raised an eyebrow at her daughter. _"What?"_

"We can… somehow make do by ourselves." Scarlett clarified. "I'm sure before them you,-"

" _Don't you_ dare _, suggest such a thing."_ Regina's eyes flashed fire. Then, they narrowed at her daughter. "You were here the entire time."

Scarlett nodded.

Regina stepped closer to her. "My back was turned." Her gaze was piercing. "I've given you everything. _Have. I. Not?_ "

"Yes, mother." Scarlett responded.

" _Amongst everything I have_ given you _… I have given you_ your values _._ Am I correct? _"_ Regina was so close to her, Scarlett could feel her even rage radiating off of her person.

"Yes, mother."

"Then tell me why I have a _strange feeling_ … that you've done something wrong?" Her tone was chilling.

Scarlett said nothing.

"Scarlett?" Regina's nails tapped together. "Answer me. Answer me carefully. Answer me… _now_."

Scarlett swallowed, hard. "I-"

" _Straighten up."_ Regina commanded.

Scarlett did so, then speaking again. "I was in this room the entire time. I witnessed them… disappear."

"You know, Scarlett… you were _born_ into this. You are a part, of this castle… a part of… _all of this_. And the same rules that apply to them… _apply to you_." Regina's statement intentionally sounded like more of a threat.

Scarlett suppressed a gulp. "Yes, mother."

Regina nodded, slowly… staring into her daughter's very soul. "Do you understand?"

"I do."

"So… while you stood in the middle of them… while my back was turned… why didn't you alert me?" Regina questioned. "Surely, if you were… at all _alarmed_ , you would have notified me."

"I didn't want to interrupt you." Scarlett replied.

Regina had been pacing, slightly. Now, she stopped, dead in her small… bloody, tracks. _"What are the rules?"_ She snapped.

"Blood, death, or serious danger." Scarlett recited, robotically.

" _Blood_ … _blood_ is an exception to part of your trained respect." Regina stated. "And _our blood_ … vanished." Her eyes bored holes into her daughter. "Explain to me _again_ , why I was not informed."

"It all happened so fast. Even if I had wished to… interrupt, by then it would have been to late." Scarlett explained.

"So fast that you hadn't the chance to scream?"

"Yes, mother." Scarlett said. "Or move. They all just… disappeared."

Disappeared. Disappeared. Yes; disappeared.

"I see." Regina caught the sight of a still profusely perspiring Pugsley in her peripheral vision.

And then she was reminded of everything.

" _Ten minutes_ , Scarlett. Ten minutes, and the blood moon _will rise_." Regina took a deep breath.

If she dared to feast upon the boy alone… it could mean the end of everything she had built out of her bones… and blood.

"Now… we have to come up with a solution." She walked back up to Pugsley. "Or soon enough… we'll both be dead."

…..

Endless… gothic… porcelain corridors.

The point of entry to the Blood Castle having been the window… the wall which it was connected to, having taken seven minutes to scale.

Yet… here they were, Shadow, Morticia and Wednesday armed with garlic-laced knives… and Gomez, Esmeralda and Rosary armed with stakes.

They walked down the castle halls… paying little mind to the dark, porcelain floors or deep red walls. But rather, eyeing what hung on them.

Paintings… painted in blood. Old, and gothic… a blood painted portrait of a dead countess, a bleeding, blacker version of The Scream.

Or fantastic, dark statues or knights in shining armour pressed against the walls… but anything not painted in blood was stained with it.

Morticia walked as close to her husband as she could, her knife held tightly in her delicate hand.

"How are you doing, Tish?" Gomez asked his encantadora.

"I'm breathing." Morticia replied, meeting his eyes. "How are you doing?"

Gomez wore an empathetic expression and placed a reassuring hand on her back. "I'm anxious." He told her. "To say the least."

"I know you are, Gomez. As am I." Morticia said as they walked down another extensive corridor. "What's eating me alive is I don't know whether finding Pugsley will lessen my nerves or make it worse."

"Querida, I can _assure_ you," Gomez faced her and gently gripped her shoulders. "No matter what we find, we will _find_ our son… and we will _save_ , our son."

Morticia sighed… relief at a time like this was something only her amour could bring her.

She held the hand that gripped her shoulder and kissed him. "I know. Thank you, mon cher."

"Thank _you_ , cara mia." Gomez squeezed her, tightly un an embrace… unwilling to let her go.

He was worried… for his entire family. Especially for his son, and his encantadora… who was more than willing to fight Regina.

And that rattled his being with anxiety.

Morticia stared into his eyes, understanding. "All of us are going to be alright, mon amour. Including me." She smiled at him, and lovingly stroked his cheek. "I promise."

Gomez sighed in the relief that could only be brought by his black angel.

He gently took the hand that stroked his cheek, and kissed it. "Tish… if you could feel my heart right now, you would know that it is beating, with rapid, _nervous_ intensity…"

Morticia nodded, placing a porcelain hand on his chest. "I _can_ feel it." She said. "Try to stabilize it. _I promise_ , mon cher… _every one of us_ are going to be alright." She sighed. "Now, kiss me; and let's go _save_ our son."

Gomez kissed her, passionately (and even _that_ , was an understatement); and the two began walking down the corridor with the others once again.

"Got your stake, Wednesday?" Esmeralda asked her granddaughter, clutching her weapon tightly.

"No." Wednesday responded.

" _What?"_ Máma stopped dead in her tracks. 

"I have my _knife_."

Máma rolled her eyes and grumbled.

"You didn't ask _that_." Wednesday defended, her voice as monotone as ever.

"Are you sure you know where we're going, Ash?" Shadow questioned.

"No." Ash replied, honestly. "And shut up; I got us this far. I'm just… trying to find the room where they're keeping Pitney before it's too late."

" _Pugsley."_ Rosary corrected.

Ash hadn't even noticed she had slipped up; she had been so focused on looking for where they were keeping Pitne- _Pugsley_ … and possibly her younger sister.

"Whatever." She shook her head.

Despite their having little time, none of them dared propose the idea of dispersing and continuing on their separate ways for a while.

A couple of them (let alone, one of them) could not face Regina… and possibly others, alone. That… that would ensure the spilling of blood; and likely not Regina's.

Shadow sighed. "Well… if we make it out of this half-alive, we know one thing is for sure." He said. "We are _definitely_ moving to the wastelands."

"Why are you bringing this up _now_?" Rosary asked, shooting Shadow a look as if to question where his common sense lied.

" _Because_ , shit like this doesn't happen there." Shadow explained.

"No, it doesn't." Ash's tone was lathered with annoyance. "They have a variety of _other_ problems."

"Oh, like it wasn't _your idea_ to move there in the first place?" Shadow retorted.

"Not that I don't _want to_ , but it wasn't." Ash told him. "It was Rosary's."

Shadow's eyes rolled. "Of course it was."

"Now shut up and stay focused or I'll be forced to waste Rosary's stake on you." Ash threatened… some part of her, somewhere… serious.

" _Yes, ma'am."_ Shadow saluted her, mockingly. But he knew how important this was… so he kept quiet and continued to walk with the group down another hall.

And as they walked down flights of stairs… and down every hall they could find… Ash stopped.

She stopped, because she saw the large, grand, Victorian clock on the wall; its numbers in Roman numerals.

She swallowed, hard.

"What is it, Ash?" Morticia inquired, concealing the rising anxiety within her.

"We have to move, now." Ash began walking again, the group following her.

" _Ash,_ what is it _?"_ Morticia demanded to know.

"The blood moon." Ash replied, darkly. "It's going to rise… in five minutes."

…..

"Is everything alright? _What's going on_ -"

" _Shut up!"_ Regina yelled at the young boy, who seemed to feel it was alright to speak now that the other vampires had… vanished.

Pugsley gulped, and said nothing more.

"We have _five minutes_ until the blood moon rises. _Where the hell_ -" Regina paused… stiffening. Her ears opened up.

"Mother?" Scarlett walked up the five steps to stand next to her mother. "What is it-"

" _Don't_ utter another word."Regina commanded.

Scarlett did as instructed, without hesitation.

Regina listened again… she listened, closely… intently… knowingly.

Knowingly.

She knew, yes, she knew… she knew what she was hearing.

Footfall. The footfall of no one she had anticipated, nor anyone whom inhabited the Blood Castle. The footfall… of intruders.

There was no escaping, no searching for the others… no blood, yet.

They had come for him.

She nodded, comprehending the limited time frame she had.

Interpreting her mother's nod as permission to speak, Scarlett did in fact do just that.

"Is it them?" She asked.

Regina took a deep breath. "Define _them_."

"The others?" Scarlett reformed her question.

Regina shook her head. "It…" She narrowed her eyes. Then, she whispered to herself. _"The ends justify the means."_ She told herself. _"Do what needs to be done."_ Regina lifted her hands, in the motion she always did when exiting a room via smoke-filled teleportation.

"Wait; what are you doing?" Scarlett's tone was obviously… afraid. "Mother, where are you going?"

And then Regina was gone… the smoke from her departure, all that remained.

"Mother!" Scarlett called.

But Regina could no longer hear her.

Walls smoothly constructed of black diamonds, with rubies engraved into them to look like swirled, gothic designs. A black… porcelain floor. A black, bloody, porcelain floor.

Shelves lining the walls. Glass shelves, overstocked with vials upon vials of blood. Blood, red but varying in shade. Crimson blood, deep red blood, slightly burgundy blood and some… almost black.

Almost.

A shelf set in the back wall contained needles, devices of injection, or devices of torture; they were stained with blood.

Regina was not interested, however, in the devices which she used to draw blood from the others on a night of crimson, lust-filled ecstasy.

No.

She was interested in the small, locked, black glass and porcelain box directly adjacent to her.

Wasting no time, she stared at the object… her eyes, unable to be pried from it even if they were to somehow end up brutally ripped from their sockets.

Instantaneously, the thing unlocked.

She reached into it, taking out a small, glass vial with a ruby stone atop it.

Carefully yet with no small element of grace, she opened the vial.

Contained therein, was her own… supply of blood. Black, blood.

Crimson smoked spilled out the sides of the container upon its opening.

And with little time to kill, she lifted the vial to her lips… and drank from it.

Her eyes glowed red upon doing so… and she stared into the glass, concentrating on the red radiance of her own eyes.

Not a moment after the glow faded, did she put the vial back in the box, lock it with those… eyes of hers, and vanish from the blood room.

"Mother?" Scarlett did not know whether to be relieved at the sight of her mother… or _very_ , afraid.

Regina nodded once, in unceasingly unfazed greeting. "Scarlett-"

That was all _Ms. Blood_ , had the chance to do.

….

Silver; sharp, shining… and laced with garlic.

Wood; sharp, rusting… and laced with vengeance.

Both weapons were drawn.

The group was floored.

It was just Scarlett, and Regina. No one else.

Neither fact of which presented an easier fight.

Perhaps… the facts brooded a harder one.

Scarlett refused to move.

She refused to blink.

She refused to look back at Pugsley.

She refused to meet the eyes of anyone in the room… especially the eyes of Mrs. Addams.

Mrs. Addams, who had been so kind to her despite her mother. Mrs. Addams, who had not said a bad word to or about the young girl throughout her stay at their home. Mrs. Addams, who suspected her, not of any wrongdoing until… until it was too late. Mrs. Addams, who- _there would be blood_.

Regina smirked, and coolly, stepped down the five porcelain stairs… taking her time, maintaining too much self-control… and she approached the group.

"Quite honestly, I'm surprised you didn't come sooner." Regina stated. She somehow managed to meet the eyes of everyone in the room. "Lay down your weapons."

" _Not a chance."_ Rosary shook her head, drawing her stake and charging at her.

She froze. They all did.

With a wave of Regina's hands, every weapon in her view was ripped from their rageful, determined grasps and was flown at the back wall, becoming lodged into it… swords in stone, unable to be released from their porcelain prison by anyone other than she who had put them there. Swords in stone; even such a scenario as that, would have been easier to conquer.

"Mother!"

Morticia's eyes lifted up. And that was when she saw him.

Pugsley, strapped to the wall, suffering, afraid… her son.

Her son.

Rage- no. _A mother's love_ taking over, Morticia took a deep breath and eyed Regina, hate burning in her dark orbs of mystery.

"You let him go, or so help me God, it won't be lack of blood you will fear, Regina, I can promise you. It will be the spilling of your own." Morticia threatened.

Regina took a couple of steps toward her. "Right, of course. And who's going to spill it?"

" _His mother."_ Morticia growled.

Regina laughed and waved her hand, causing Morticia to be thrown across the room, and crashing her into the right wall.

Gomez took not a moment to rush over to her, more frightened than he had ever been before.

Esmeralda and Shadow made a move to charge at Regina… but it was the last move they were able to make.

They were stuck. Their legs… were frozen.

Esmeralda struggled against her hold. "Listen here, _demon-bat_! If you lay a _hand_ on that boy or _anyone_ in this family, you will suffer the consequences! You think you're powerful, do you? Well you just _wait_ until I get my hands on you; I am going to make Rambo look like _Little Mary Sunshine_ -"

Instantly, she shut up… upon hearing the bloodcurdling scream that ripped through the entire room.

All heads turned to where the noise originated, and their eyes widened.

There stood Ash, a garlic-laced knife (concealed from Regina's view, by the leather jacket she wore) pressed to Scarlett's throat.

" _Where is she?"_ Ash's voice boomed.

Scarlett peeped, terrified.

Regina took three steps closer to the scene. Three… chillingly calm, steps.

"Where is who?" Regina's incredibly even voice asked.

" _Where is Crimson?"_ Ash pressed the knife harder against Scarlett's throat, ready to end her existence with a mere stroke of her blade. "I swear to God, Regina, if you don't tell me _where the hell she is_ ; I'm taking your daughter _just like_ you took _her_ from me. _Where is she?_ "

Regina's eyes never leaving Ash's. "Who is Crimson?"

" _Oh, you_ bitch _."_ Ash's tone was filled with disgusted hate. " _Crimson!_ _Crimson_ , the little girl you and your _bloodthirsty hoard of savages_ kidnapped. I _raised_ that girl, Regina. And you took her for one of your _sick, cult rituals_ and that _little girl_ was never seen again." The blade pressed to Scarlett's throat, pressed even harder against the young girl's pale, penetrable flesh.

Scarlett did not so much as make another peep; for fear that if she did, it would mean the end.

Regina remained controlled; and she paused, smiling.

Or… was it a smirk? No. It was a smile. But behind it, there was a flash. A flash, of… wickedness? Or was it just lust over abuse of power? Therefore, was that not by default, wickedness?

No. It was not a flash. At a mere glance, indeed it was. But, no… her smile… was, and had always been wicked.

She raised an eyebrow. "Crimson?" She took a moment to deliver her next set of words. "Her name matches the colour of her blood." Regina's stare was now cold… colder than the block of ice that sank the Titanic, and killed so many aboard it. _"She was the first to die."_

Hurt, rage, vengeance… words too small to describe the feelings that had bubbled up inside of Ash for so long… that had now risen to the surface at the conformation of her suspicion, and what had been her biggest fear.

Roughly, she released Scarlett (causing the child to fall, limply to the ground), and ran, full-force at Regina, clutching her knife.

Regina held up her hands, ready to use the skills she had acquired… from draining mortal blood… from the first sacrifice, to send Ash careening across the floor as well.

But she had, not, the opportunity to do so.

Ash tackled her, knocking her to the ground and holding herself on top of her.

Regina struggled, raising up her hands and grasping the knife, attempting to pry it from Ash's determined grip.

The two wrestled on the ground, fighting for control of the garlic-laced instrument of masochistic devastation. One acquiring the shining, silver object only for the thing to be snatched from their grasp by their enemy.

" _You_ murdered _her."_ Ash spat, groaning as she fought, tooth, nail, wounded heart, darkened soul and bruised body for the knife.

"That isn't all _we_ did." Regina breathed, tugging at the knife. _"We consumed her."_

Ash half-groaned, half-screamed at Regina's words, and tried, desperately to win control of the knife.

She lost.

"But don't worry, dear." Regina climbed on top of her and held the knife to her throat. " _Now_ , you can join her."

Just as Regina was about to end the existence of her violent, subdued adversary… she was grabbed from behind.

The knife was pried from her unwilling hand by Ash's angel, and she was thrown to the ground… the knife now sent sliding across it.

Regina, unable to rise to her feet just yet, lifted her hands and sent both Ash and Rosary careening across the room, hitting the left wall.

The knife had landed in the center of the room.

…

Lurch groaned in agreement.

He had been watering Hernus, Mrs. Addams's carnivorous plant on her and Mr. Addams bedside table, for the past ten minutes now.

Hernus didn't need much watering. Mostly, he just needed to be fed and kept out of sunlight.

And although Morticia adored taking care of her plants, Lurch knew she had… previous engagements, so he took over her beloved duties while she and the rest of the family- _most of_ the rest of the family, were out trying to rescue Pugsley.

Thing shook from his place on the bedside table, anxiety consuming him entirely.

"I know, Thing." Lurch shook his head and finished watering Hernus and pointed at the plate of fresh bongo meat, groaning.

Thing tapped his fingers on the nightstand, in annoyance at Lurch's -although typical- lack of animation due to their circumstance.

Still, he handed him the bongo meat and signed.

"Thank you, Thing." Lurch stuck a fork into the meat and found the mouth of Mrs. Addams' plant, beginning to feed it in chunks.

Thing hopped about, obviously distressed.

"Careful." Lurch warned. "You're going to shake him." The cautionary statement uncontrollably came out as more of a slow moan.

Thing stopped, but signed once again.

Lurch fed Hernus another chunk of bongo meat as he spoke to Thing. "I don't know." He groaned. "I hope he's alright."

Thing fell flat, nervous.

Lurch gently patted Thing, nodding, reassuringly. "I'm sure they're alright."

….

The feet of Wednesday Addams were now glued to the floor, adjacent to those of Shadow's and her grandmother's.

Rosary, and her beloved hadn't moved since they had been thrown against the wall.

Morticia had. She had moved, and her eyes had fallen upon the knife.

Seeing her family… thinking of her little boy, she ran across the room and jumped, diving for the knife… along with Regina.

Morticia refused to let go of her opportunity to save her son, and she resisted Regina's hands trying to take the instrument from her.

And the soft, fluttering of fleeing bat wings… did fall upon deaf ears.

Morticia held the knife in her hand, and attempted to kick Regina away from her.

She had not, the chance.

Gomez ran toward them, ready to assist Morticia in grabbing the knife from the immortal embodiment of all he despised.

Noticing this instantly, Regina waved a hand and Gomez's feet froze in their place, as though they were now a part of the bloodstained floor.

Regina lifted her hands with little effort, and both she and Morticia rose up until they were sustained a mere several feet from the high ceiling.

" _Amare a matris_ ; a mother's love." Regina stared into Morticia's eyes. "A passage from Ebony Wood's, The Rose: _The love of a mother is_ so strong _, it can break the bonds of space and time… end it_ entirely _, to ensure the safety of her flesh and blood. And even end lives, if those that hurt their children are not careful. A mother has_ eyes _in the back of her head._ " She cocked her head. "It's a shame, really. It appears as though the back of your head has always been blind."

"Blind enough to know that you were a vindictive whore from the moment I met you?" Morticia retorted.

"Blind enough not to realize that our blood was mixing right under your nose." Regina scoffed. "What did you do, _differently_ from the others, Morticia?" She asked.

Morticia was stoic externally, but was internally dumbfounded.

What the hell was she talking about?

"What?"

" _You_ know _what."_ Regina's even tone was edged with something else. Hurt? No. Anger? Quite possibly. Disgust? …yes. Her even tone was edged with disgust.

Morticia thought for a moment. And then she understood.

Regina was talking about… about Gomez.

" _I_ loved _him."_ Morticia told her.

" _Not good enough!"_ Regina snapped. "I curse the day such a word was ever invented. _It means_ nothing _._ " She felt her throat begin to close with the sheer revulsion she felt, but she prevented it. "And neither do you. You were no different from the others. The only thing unique about you was that _you_ agreed to marry him." She shook her head. _"And he said he_ loved _you."_

" _Because_ he did _."_ Morticia stated, confidently. " _And_ he does _._ And you can't stand it. That blood pact he signed meant _nothing_ when he married me. But you hunted him down… hunted _our son_ down, regardless. You did it because you _despise_ him for not saying he loved you." She looked her, dead in the face. "But my husband never was a wonted liar."

Regina's rage was bubbling over. "A word of advice, dear. Don't be too quick to insult the woman who's going to consume your son."

Morticia shook her head and retreated inside herself.

"Bis tincto sanguine, et ossa contusa,

Castella et principes, foras mittetur:"

" _What the hell are you doing?"_ Regina questioned, her voice laced with her rising anxiety.

"In aere, quod est in nobis oriri,"

" _What's happening?"_ Regina demanded to know, now finding great difficulty in sustaining the both of them in the air. _"What the_ hell _are you doing?"_

"Ad terram, ut nemo perit."

Morticia finished reciting, meeting Regina's eyes. _"Bitch."_

After she spoke that final word, both she and Regina fell out of their gravity-defying positions… and crashed to the ground, landing merely a few inches from one another.

Regina turned to Morticia, using her hands to pick herself up halfway. "What did you do?"

"Have you forgotten, _dear_?" Morticia asked, out of breath. _"I'm a witch."_

Regina took a deep breath in; a deep, enraged inhalation of the surrounding air. She lifted up herself, beginning to run… and then she dove after Morticia.

"Cara mia!"

Gomez was losing control of himself. Everything from the moment Pugsley had been taken, had boiled down to this… and there wasn't a damn thing he could do to throw Regina off of his wife and murder her with no remorse.

" _Alright_ , Gomez; _calm down_!" Esmeralda held up a hand. "I- "

" _How the_ hell _am I supposed to_ calm down _?"_ Gomez asked, struggling against the forced connection of his feet to the ground. He began to shake, nervously, speaking to himself as he did. "God, this is all my fault! My Tish, I can't lose her- _get the hell off of her_!" He screamed.

"I said, calm down!" Esmeralda glared, irately at him. "The more you struggle, the harder this is going to be."

"The harder _what's_ going to be- _Tish_!" Gomez moved his legs, desperately but nothing came of this action.

The knife was out of Morticia's hands, and her high heels kicked Regina in the back of her legs, causing her to fall on top of her.

Her body in full survival mode, her mind focusing on her husband, her _son_ … she reached out her hands and grabbed the knife, fighting with everything she had for control of the garlic-laced instrument.

" _I'm trying to think of a_ counteracting spell _!"_ Máma yelled to him, in a whisper. _"Now, would you be_ quiet _?"_

As difficult, as gut-wrenching, heart-shattering and painstaking as the task did prove… for his encantadora, his black angel… for Morticia, Gomez kept quiet and attempted with all of his internal strength, not to struggle… not to fight, physically.

And Máma began to fish through her unsystematic, anxious, chaotic brain for a counteracting spell.

The knife was clutched tightly in Morticia's grasp.

Under Regina, she made attempts fueled by precarious haste and… _amare a matris_ , to throw Regina off of her thrashing person.

"Having a bit of _trouble_ , _are you_?" Regina breathed.

"I'm not the one who's out of control for the first time in her life." Morticia responded, kicking her and pulling the knife towards herself.

" _I'm not alive,_ dear _."_ Regina smirked, and attempted to take control of the knife.

"You're right, you're not." Morticia kicked her and moved to the side. _"I'll make_ damn sure _of that."_

But her actions came to no avail.

" _Máma!"_ Gomez's nerves were about to burst from his system and devour him whole.

" _I know,_ I know _!"_ Esmeralda's hands shook as she formed the right words.

" _Tish!"_ Gomez couldn't help but allow his worry for his querida, and helplessness at his inability to do anything surmount his being. He turned to his mother-in-law. "Think _, Máma!"_ He yelled.

"Don't _shout at me!"_ Máma inhaled and exhaled, deeply… then she stiffened… and began to recite the counteracting spell.

"Nec enim effundet sanguinem et matres,

Aut timor, ut notarent sibi modo bene ill,

Si totum alium defecerit,"

Morticia wished to every power there was that she was strong enough to crawl out from under Regina and subdue her, driving the blade into her and ending her, ending her once and for all.

And mentally, she was.

Physically, she wasn't.

Regina knew it… she sensed the pain- the hurt, of her victim.

And if she hadn't hated Morticia so, she would have hedonistically enjoyed every part of it.

"Haec eo anno ut fiat:

Pedes non gelatum,

Contra!"

Esmeralda turned to Gomez. _"Move,_ now _!"_

No further direction needed, Gomez lifted his feet, he- he lifted his feet.

Máma's spell had worked.

Wednesday and her grandmother rushed to where Pugsley was tied to the wall, one goal in mind: to release him. To release him, _now_.

Shadow darted over to Ash and Rosary, praying for their safety.

They had been out cold for so long…

Gomez ran to Morticia.

Regina smiled down at Morticia… _her_ smile. "I think you enjoy fighting me." She said, her words slowly drawn out.

Morticia's eyes leveled. "The only thing I am going to _enjoy_ , is watching you take your last breath."

"Oh, _Tish_ …" Regina grabbed hold of the knife. "You won't be around to see it."

Morticia groaned, loudly and never left Regina's eyes as she fought for full control of the garlic-laced knife… for full control of the continuance of Regina's half-life.

And a silver instrument of masochistic devastation was ripped from pale, shaking hands.

Gomez ran to Morticia, faster than he had ever run before, prepared to tackle Regina from behind, hold her down and drive the knife straight into her… heart.

Her bleeding, blackened heart that ceased, to beat.

Gomez held Regina from behind.

She never made noise, for she was silent.

She didn't struggle, didn't fight him, didn't lunge at his wife… she didn't breathe.

Morticia had taken control of the garlic-laced knife, then having driven it straight into her heart… and now, her blood poured out of her.

Gomez knew… the instant his hands enclosed around the knife, and the blood… the queen's blood.

Still, Morticia stared into the faded burning irises and darkened pupils, of Regina Blood.

 _It was not the old man who vexed me. But his Evil Eye…_

She was gone; truly deceased in this realm and every other.

And the moment Gomez Addams fully comprehended her death, he threw her off of Morticia.

" _Cara mia!"_

" _Mon cher."_ Morticia took a relieved breath as her husband picked her up and held her in his arms.

"Mi reina, mi encantadora, _my black angel_ …" Gomez kissed her, holding her against him as close as possible. "Tish, I…" He couldn't form any of his words properly. All he could do was kiss her and thank everything there was to thank that she was alright; that, and allow tears to well up in his eyes… a few of them escaping his being.

"It's alright, mon amour." Morticia caressed his cheek with her free hand (as the other was wrapped, tightly around his neck), and smiled at him. "It's alright. I'm alright." She nodded, reassuringly. "Máma and Wednesday have released Pugsley?" She asked.

Gomez nodded. "Yes, my darling. He should be rushing over here any moment now."

At this, tears formed in Morticia's own eyes. "He's alright. _He's alright._ " She repeated those words what had to be ten times over. "Gomez, Pugsley is alright." She sealed his lips with hers, passionately.

" _Yes_ , mi hermosa diosa. He is." Gomez breathed a sigh of relief. His tears couldn't stop falling. "I… when I saw you, there, and there wasn't anything I could do, I thought…" He shook his head, and pulled her closer, planting a kiss on her temple. "I thought I was going to lose you."

Morticia closed her eyes and sighed. Then, she looked back into her husband's. "Gomez, mon diable… it is impossible that you could ever lose me. Don't you remember? I could only ever live and die with you." She smiled.

Gomez took a deep breath in. "Cara mia… yes, yes, of course I do." He let out a small, short, bittersweet laugh. "How could I have been so foolish?"

"Mistakes; we all make them." Morticia's eyes burned with passion for him, and happiness that she could make him smile through his tears.

"My darling… to live without you, _only that_ would be torture." Gomez said.

"A day alone…" Morticia slowly wrapped her other arm around his neck. " _only that_ would be death."

Gomez kissed her, filled with passionate desire and loving relief.

He parted her lips to deeper delve into their shared kiss and pressed against her as much as he could.

Her held her close, worshipped her, all but made love to her… thankful beyond imagination for the safety and the existence of his black angel.

"What the hell happened?" Ash rubbed her head. Getting her bearings, she then immediately turned over to Rosary and shook her, violently. " _Rosary?_ Angel, are you alright? _Wake up_ ; _look at me_ , damn it!"

Rosary's eyes jolted open at the sudden start.

She met those of her beloved and sat up. "Did we win?" She asked, hopeful.

Ash nodded and embraced her, kissing her neck. "Yes, darling, we did."

Shadow cleared his throat.

Ash and Rosary looked up at him.

"He isn't dead!" Ash exclaimed, excitedly and jumped up, helping Rosary to her feet.

Shadow rolled his eyes. "I _almost_ was!"

"Yea, but you're _not_!" Ash slapped his back. "And _hell_ , so were we."

Rosary embraced Shadow, ignoring Ash's lack of sympathy. " _I_ was worried about you, Shadow." She then added: "When I… _wasn't_ , unconscious."

Shadow shook his head and used one free arm to extend it to Ash. He gestured with his head, for her to join them.

Ash's resistance wore off, and she ran into the arms of the people who had kept her sane all through her half-living years.

Morticia's feet were on the ground now, but her lips were still locked with her amour's.

And then she felt arms wrap around her waist.

Morticia's eyes jolted open and she looked down at… at her son.

"Pugsley!" She fell to her knees and looked him in his beautiful, big, brown eyes; embracing him. "Pugsley, you're alright! You're back, you're… oh, darling, I could hardly sleep." She placed a cold hand on his cheek. "Pugsley… Pugsley, my darling little demon." She kissed his cheek. "Did they hurt you?"

Pugsley smiled at her and shook his head. "Well, -" He then looked up and registered the presence of his father. "Father!"

Gomez laughed and bent down next to his wife, pulling his son into a tight hug. "Pugsley, your mother and I were worried sick."

Pugsley raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that a good thing?"

"Not in this context." Gomez looked into his son's eyes. "Everything your mother and I have built in this family would mean absolutely nothing without our children."

Pugsley appeared flabbergasted. "You have more kids?"

Gomez slapped his son's back. "Not yet."

" _Gomez."_ Morticia smoothed down her hair.

Gomez winked at his son. "Believe me, I'm just as surprised as you are."

Pugsley laughed. "I think we're all surprised about that." He pulled both of his parents into a hug. "I'm just glad you guys are alright. And that, ya know, love exists."

Gomez raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"There was this session a couple hours ago where Regina verbally abused me and said that love was a fasad." Pugsley explained.

Morticia raised an eyebrow. "Do you mean _façade_ , darling?"

"Oh, yea. Yea, that makes more sense." Pugsley decided. "Well, anyway, she said love wasn't real and that it wouldn't save me. I told her that wasn't true."

"And what did she say?" Gomez questioned.

"She mocked me and dug her nails into my cheek." Pugsley replied, nonchalantly.

"What?" Morticia squeezed his shoulders. She turned to her husband. "Is it possible for that woman to die once more? I will gladly drive a stake into her heart, alongside the knife."

Gomez placed an adoring hand on his wife's shoulder and rubbed out its tension. "I don't think that's possible, querida." He said, honestly.

Morticia leaned into him, and he wrapped his arm around her, holding her.

"Then that means she's really dead." Morticia took her husband's hand.

" _That she is_ , cara mia." Gomez's lips met her forehead.

"Yea. Speaking of which;" Pugsley pointed to Regina's corpse. "who killed her?" He asked. "It was hard to tell because I was sort of watching Máma do that counter-spell thing."

Gomez helped his encantadora to her feet, his arm wrapped tightly around her.

He eyes her, proudly. "That would be your mother." Gomez replied, kissing his wife's hand. "Your gorgeous, wonderful, _strong_ mother."

Pugsley smiled up at Morticia. "Thanks, mother." He hugged her.

Morticia ran her fingers through his hair and sighed. "Of course, darling."

Ash, Shadow and Rosary then joined the family next to Pugsley.

Ash nodded, in realization. "Ah… so _that's_ a Pugsley."

Pugsley broke the hug he was now sharing with his grandmother and approached the trio. "Who are you?"

"I'm Rosary." Rosary smiled. "And this," She gestured to Shadow. "is Shadow. And this," she wrapped her arm around Ash's waist. "is Ash."

Ash waved.

Pugsley noticed their red eyes. "I didn't see you guys in that big crowd of vampires."

"No, you didn't." Shadow replied. "We wouldn't be caught dead there."

"Well-" Ash was about to contradict.

"Alright, that's different." Shadow held up a finger, knowing she would come back with how, due to the blood sacrifices within the Blood Castle, they very well could end up dead there. "Besides," He defended his previous statement. "We wouldn't be caught."

Ash cocked her head. "Touché."

"Just think of us as friends." Rosary told Pugsley.

"Okay." Pugsley shrugged. "Oh, Rosary?"

"Yes?"

"Are you alright?" Pugsley inquired. "There's a red mark on your arm. I think it's from the wall."

"Yes, Pugsley. I'm fine." Rosary responded, kindly. "And it is… from the wall."

"Mmhmm." Ash turned Rosary around and gripped her hips. "Pisses me off that that bitch marked you."

Rosary played with Ash's hair, absently. "Yes, because only you're allowed to do that."

Ash kissed her. "Damn right."

Máma gestured from her grandson to the trio. "You might want to thank them." She told Pugsley. "After all, we wouldn't have gotten her to save ya if they didn't show us to the castle."

Pugsley nodded and looked up at the three. "Thank you, Ash, Rosary and Shadow. Thanks a lot." He sighed and shook his head. "I wasn't too excited about the prospect of getting all the blood sucked out of me."

Everyone in the room smiled at the young boy- well… everyone except the one who never smiled: his elder sister.

Pugsley looked around the room.

It seemed so much larger now, without the lustfully ravenous hoard of vampires crowding the bloodstained ballroom and clawing at him, yearning for a taste of their soon-to-be meal.

It seemed so much larger now, without her.

"Scarlett." Pugsley finally said (a bit disheartened in his tone), figuring that at this point, they all were aware she was partly responsible for their predicament. "She's gone."

Morticia realized then, that her son was correct. "She is." She felt terrible for him. "I'm sorry, darling. I know you… weren't aware of her true colours."

Pugsley half-smiled, bitterly. "Yea. I mean the fact that there _were_ colours should have tipped me off but, nope." He looked at his family, guiltily. "I'm sorry about everything."

"Now, Pugsley." Gomez began. "None of what has happened is your fault. You were in love. It isn't any fault of yours that their betrayal sent us… sent _you_ , into this."

Pugsley sighed. "Thanks, father."

"I mean part of it is your fault." Wednesday adjusted the cuffs of her dress.

Pugsley squinted. "You're just mad that I stood up to you."

"Perhaps." Wednesday met his eyes. "But shouldn't this tell you something?"

"What?" Pugsley inquired.

"You were never meant to stand up to me."

"Oh." Saddened but seeing no flaws in Wednesday's -what he presumed to be quite true- statement, Pugsley's eyes became downcast, and they met his shoes.

"Tish… what more could we ask?" Gomez nuzzled Morticia's neck, affectionately.

Morticia thought for a moment. "Well, there is… one, thing."

"And what is that?" Gomez asked, moving his hands along her sides.

Morticia met his eyes, gazing into them both adoringly and intently. "To go home."

….

The over-puffed clouds we back to their dusty, blood red shade (an indication of early morn). The entire sky was stained with the blood that had recently been shed.

They cried, heavy tears… but not tears of mourning despite it being so. Rather, their tears were those of… of a great victory for the survivors, and of a small victory for the clouds whose atmospheric tears did fall over all they could reach.

"I had to try and devastate a red delicious because of you." Wednesday told her brother as the two walked with the rest of the group, out of… away from, the ruined Blood Castle.

"Sorry." Pugsley shrugged. "So, you missed me?" His tone was hopeful.

"No." Wednesday stated, coldly. "I missed being the one to instigate and draw-out your suffering. That isn't and will not be anyone else's job until you meet a girl someday."

"I did meet a girl." Pugsley said, a bit disheartened.

"That doesn't count." Wednesday contradicted. "I meant: until you meet an acceptable girl. One who isn't going to try and extract the blood from your veins without even having the decency to learn your middle name."

"That's fair." Pugsley decided, somewhat sadly. He paused and turned his head to face his sister as they walked. "She said love wouldn't save me."

"It didn't." Wednesday agreed (despite her hatred for the woman whom uttered the words). "We did."

"But you love me." Pugsley defended.

Wednesday cocked her head, indifferently. "Somewhat."

Pugsley's entire face brightened; as if he had just found out the dynamite he had put together was being used to fight wars in foreign countries. "I'll take it!"

Ash held Rosary's hand, her fingers locked with hers as they walked beside Shadow.

"I _told you_ I wouldn't get hurt." Rosary laughed and kissed her beloved's hand.

"Mmm. Well, in a way, you did." Ash recalled the red mark on her arm. "And as upset as I am at that fact… _none of it_ is directed at you."

Rosary smiled. "It better not be."

"It isn't." Ash assured her. "But you bet your ass, I'm reclaiming what's mine later."

Rosary giggled. "Of course."

"So… how long you been a witch?" Shadow asked Esmeralda, attempting to make conversation.

"Longer than you've been alive." Esmeralda replied, tersely.

Shadow highly doubted this claim. "I'm one hundred-twenty-five."

"Maybe not." Esmeralda sighed. She looked up at her son-in-law and daughter.

They were quite literally inseparable.

"Damn. The jaws of life couldn't rip those two apart." She remarked.

Then, she watched as Shadow's face contorted; he, appearing not to have cared for her statement.

Máma slapped Shadow in the back and laughed. "Well, son, if you're in the market for witches; I'm single and ready to mingle."

Shadow chuckled, uncomfortably. "Oh, really… that's, that's alright- "

"I mean, I'm a little busty but I always say: if you can't take thickness of the wood, _don't ride the broom_!" Máma shook her head.

"Oh, _no_ … no, really." Shadow held up his hands. "Thank you."

"Ya sure?" Esmeralda asked him, jokingly. "This golden opportunity will never come again."

"I know." Shadow nodded, assuredly. "I just… we're not compatible."

Máma was beginning to get a kick out of riling Shadow up. "You're quite the charmer, aren't you?" She asked, sarcastically.

"Ha-ha, yes, well…" Shadow cleared his throat. "You… we…"

"I understand," Esmeralda teased and patted Shadow's shoulder. "I'm just too much for you."

Gomez carried his black angel (both he and she, stained with the queen's blood) out of the Blood Castle, and hadn't set her down since.

The Blood Castle. Now, it was understood just why it was called, the Blood Castle.

It was not because Regina Blood had built the foundation of the thing with her own blood, and bones. It was not because the two whom had the most power (it seemed) in the castle, had the last name of the very ruby liquid they lusted for.

Rather, it was because that was what it was. It was a castle, its inhabitants only sustenance being the very thing they had recently lost. It was because, upon entering that castle… blood was doomed or destined to be spilt, and often- always, there were casualties due to it.

Like today. Like all the days before.

And at this complete revelation (although none of the survivors dared look back), the Blood Castle appeared more life-filled… or less, than it had in over one hundred years.

" _Cara mia…"_ Gomez's thumb ran over her back as he held her. "I can't stop thanking everything there is to thank for your safety."

Morticia buried her head in his neck, contentedly. "I can tell." She closed her eyes. "I'm just happy we all made it out alive." She said. "Bloodstained… but alive."

Gomez kissed her neck. "As am I, my darling." He shook his head. "You will never cease to amaze me, querida."

"All I did was fight for our son… for us." Morticia snuggled against him, warming herself in the coldness of the sky's morning tears.

"I know. But that isn't a mere thing to do, Tish. That is… you, are an enchantment. An enchantment… that I couldn't live without." Gomez leaned his head to the side a bit, nuzzling against her.

Morticia wrapped her arms around his neck, more-so than they already were. "No matter how many times I do…" She practically whispered, quoting her husband. "I feel like I can never hold you tight enough."

"You can." Gomez replied, adoringly. "You _do_." His lips met her temple, and he spoke against her soft, pale skin. "Don't worry, querida… I am not going _anywhere_."

" _I know."_ A smile graced Morticia's features. "I just couldn't live without the feeling of you… against me or that feeling of safety that comes with your embrace. Or you… _you_ , overall. I couldn't live without _you_ , or die without _you_ … I couldn't exist without _you_." She did not open her eyes, exhausted; but she did plant a light kiss on her amour's neck. "Thank you, mon amour."

"What did I do?" Gomez questioned.

"You've been mine… you _are_ , mine." Morticia replied. "And you've gotten me through this. And you've never betrayed me, and… I'm only stable right now because you're holding me."

"Oh, Tish…" Gomez's lips locked with hers. "I will hold you for all eternity, my black angel."

Morticia began to hum Eternity, one of their favourite songs as she removed one of her arms from being snaked around his neck and allowed her nails to drum against his chest.

Gomez began to feel his Tish drift off in his arms. "And I'll only go to Heaven… if they let me bring you, too." He kissed her head, adoringly. "Ti amo, mi hermosa diosa."

Seeing this interaction… Wednesday's eyes smiled. Regina's downfall was a black parade she had indeed attended. Attended? Hell, she had done much better than attend. She had dawned her mock mourning attire, grabbed clanging, midnight-coloured symbols and marched through the streets… red rain pouring down her pale features. Her pale, revenged… victorious features.


	12. Ashen Obliteration

Chapter 11: Ashen Obliteration

Tears still heavily poured from the blood red morning sky as the survivors had walked to the RV… then driving to the outskirts of the Black Forest.

The trees shook with either grace or vengeance… or both, as Gomez, Morticia and their beautifully macabre family exited the house-vehicle, bidding goodbye to those who had shown them nothing but themselves and generosity.

A promise was made the day the Addams' left the realm of blood and bones. Likely, they would never see that place again… ever again. But even still, the undeniable bond the trio of vampires had formed with the Addams'… the bond Ash had formed with Gomez, swore that should Gomez and/or anyone in his family ever return, there would be no hesitation in any needed assistance… or needed guest bedrooms.

Ash hadn't cried so much since she had lost Crimson. But when she had to bid goodbye to the one man who knew her better than she knew herself, who helped her and accepted her… who became her friend (what an understatement, the word did seem, now) … it was then that Ash cried… cried more -almost- than she had in her entire twenty-three years of half-life.

Máma and Morticia recited the spell (now comprehending that it, itself was one of the only two things that remained of Regina; the poem that took up most of their magick mechanism to go home… and the queen's spawn) to open the portal, and open it, they did.

Lurch and Thing had anxiously awaited their arrival home.

Upon the conclusion of their unhappily heartfelt reunion, the two who had been left behind due to… the portal capacity, had prepared a magnificent meal combining some of their favourite foods: glasses of bubbling Dym I Zerkala for the children and miniature broiled bat wings paired with black elk bites, red wine and a brandy (respectively) for Gomez and his black goddess of midnight, their meals incomplete without glossed turtle tips and a bit of freshly cooked yak… and of course, bloodberries to feed one another; and for Máma, a glass of Maury wine some newts eye noodles.

All through dinner, the family laughed and ate, conversing with one another with no fear of an accident or something off about the two heading it.

Wednesday had stolen a wing off of Pugsley's plate, in response to which a small, somewhat violent fight between the two involving forks and spoons -that was until Wednesday picked up her knife- erupted.

Esmeralda happily drank her every care away, drowning her stresses and now, relief in five glasses of Maury. By the end of dinner, she could barely remember two minutes ago (let alone, _days_ ).

Lurch and Thing ate with the family, opting not to eat their late dinners together as they usually did and instead partook in the meal they had prepared with their family whom they had prepared it for.

Morticia and her diable were completely enamoured with one another. They fed each other bits of their food, and talked with their family, and especially with each other… talking to one another then leading to touching, caressing, whispers of undying devotion and a shower of amorous kisses.

Lurch had been relieved of his duties all together that night.

All the family did was spend much-needed time together, immersed with one another and blissfully unhappy. And blissful unhappiness was an emotion which they hadn't truly felt in weeks.

Morticia read the children their bedtime story. That night, they had chosen… The Tell-Tale Heart. And Morticia read with such feeling, such passion, such darkness that she could feel her father's proud presence in the room with her. Her father's proud, deeply missed, deeply _loved_ presence.

After reading to them she had tucked them in, saving her daughter for second for a specific reason.

She had watched Wednesday's eyes enlarge, excitedly as she watched her mother read… and Morticia noticed that ever since she had spoken to Wednesday and killed Regina… Wednesday's eyes looked at her with… admiration. Yes, it was admiration.

And she wished to see it again, before the night was over.

She had backed up out of Wednesday's room (as the young girl had fallen fast asleep rather abruptly). And in doing so, she had -completely unawares- backed straight into her husband.

She had known it was him even before he wrapped his strong, worshipping arms around her and began to devour her completely.

He'd then lifted her up in his arms and carried her straight up to their room, showing her how much he adored her… how passionate he was for her… how he loved her with everything he could love her with and everything he was, in every way possible.

And as Pugsley lied in his bed that night, staring up at his crumbling ceiling… all he could think of was how happy he was that his parents did in fact love him.

And how… he sighed. _Everything could have ended differently…_

….

But it had been a week since then.

A week… an entire, blissfully unhappy, bloody week.

He was blissfully unhappy.

…wasn't he?

Well, not… not completely.

But that was to be expected.

…wasn't it?

He stood, studying his reflection in his bedroom mirror.

His father's tie- _his_ tie, was placed safely back in his dresser; not to be used for a long, long time.

 _Will it ever be used again?_ He wondered, a thought that oft did cross the young boy's mind.

He shook his head -as if attempting to shake the recurring thought from his mind all together- and continued staring into his mirror.

Pugsley Addams. Pugsley Addams. Pugsley Addams.

Now what the hell did that even mean?

It was his name. It was his identity.

But he had no precedent he could identify with.

And still -now more than ever-, he wanted one.

He loved his parents, but he wanted someone in his family who he could understand and who could understand him, who he could talk to and trade explosives with, who he could do chemistry with and who could help him balance his radioactive waste with Máma's soup.

But he didn't have that.

What he had was spirited brown eyes, light brown hair, spiked up in the front… fair skin compared to… others. An average height, and a slightly above average weight.

What he had was a ten-year-old boy, looking back at him in the mirror, unsure of who to turn to completely, unsure of what he was… _who_ he was.

What he had was himself. Pugsley Addams.

He sighed.

With his black and off-white striped T-shirt, black shorts and black lace-up boots… he looked like no one in the family.

He looked like himself. Pugsley Addams.

And Pugsley Addams, now… was no longer to excited about that prospect. About that _fact_.

He could do nothing but stand there… looking at himself.

What now?

Wednesday looked like Morticia. She would never understand.

And he…? Well, he looked like… himself.

He looked like himself and he didn't like it.

But it suited him.

Pugsley smiled. Then, the smile faded.

What did that mean, then?

 _Creak._

The door opened.

In walked Wednesday, forebodingly carrying a kitchen knife.

"Your laces are untied." She remarked and sat down on his bed with a small, inadvertent bounce.

"What?" Pugsley looked down.

She was right.

Quickly, he tied them the way he usually had them… only two of the laces, undone.

Wednesday absently played with the kitchen knife in her hands.

"I know I'm late. I had some business to take care of." Wednesday replied, wiping a red stain off of her knife.

Pugsley raised an eyebrow. "Late for what?" He then turned to face her. "And what business?"

"I had a problem. I terminated the problem." Wednesday concisely explained.

Pugsley cautiously sat on the edge of the bed, facing his sister. "But what was the problem?"

"Do you remember Andy McCallister?" Wednesday asked.

Pugsley nodded. "Yea. He's that boy with that really annoying dog."

"He's Judge Womack's grandson." Wednesday added.

Pugsley's brows furrowed in confusion. _"The dog?"_

Wednesday groaned. "Don't be ridiculous." Seeing as her brother was still clearly confused, she clarified her claim. _"Andy."_

" _Oh."_ Pugsley drew out the word, in enlightened revelation.

"Judge Womack's daughter may look like a dog, but she isn't one." Wednesday told him.

"What would that have to do with anything?" Pugsley questioned, now even more confused.

"Because the dog couldn't be Judge Womack's grandson, if his parents are people and…" Wednesday shook her head, getting the feeling that this was completely hopeless.

Pugsley folded his arms and grimaced in disgust for the dog. "All that thing does is bark. And play fetch."

"Well," Wednesday glanced down at her knife. "it appears I've killed two birds with one stone."

"No. _We_ did that, yesterday." Pugsley corrected; at least, he thought.

"Don't be an idiot, Pugsley." Wednesday rolled her eyes, then proudly straightened her back. "That dog won't be giving us any more trouble."

"What about Andy?" Pugsley inquired.

"Neither will Andy." Wednesday assured him.

"Where is he?" Pugsley asked her. "I thought he was staying with Judge Womack for the week."

Wednesday shook her head. "Not anymore."

"Will he be coming back?" Pugsley was genuinely very curious now.

"I highly doubt it." Wednesday stated, honestly. "He was knocked out pretty good."

"Oh." Pugsley played with his hands in his lap. Then, he looked up at his sister. "Wednesday?"

"Yes?"

"Next time you take masochistic revenge on a boy and his dog, can I come?" Pugsley asked, hopeful. "I used to."

Wednesday sighed. "Just don't screw it up."

"Great!" Pugsley smiled. Then, the smile faded. "Wednesday?"

"Yes?"

Pugsley swallowed, hard. "If everything is finished, why do you still have that knife?"

Wednesday slowly got off of the bed and approached her younger brother, standing over him, clutching the kitchen knife.

Pugsley's eyes widened.

"Because," Wednesday began. "we're playing Hide and Shriek."

….

A hand belonging to the beau diable, Gomez Addams, did hold his beautiful black angel in his arms that foggy, July morning.

He carried her from their bathroom, holding her bewitching, porcelain body, tightly as he walked to their bed; the two having just finished taking a long, hot shower together.

Gomez lied her down on the bed, then getting into the bed with her, holding her in his arms atop their silk and satin sheets.

Morticia caressed his cheek, her crimson, stiletto nails lightly grazing his skin. "I still can't get over everything that happened to us last week." She said with a relieved sigh.

"Nor can I, querida." Gomez ran his thumb over her waist. "I'm just relieved that our children are alright… that you're alright."

Morticia smiled. "Well, of course they are. I wasn't going to let that woman take our son from us…" She moved her hand from his cheek to his chest, and looked into his eyes, sensual vulnerability in her own. "or take me from you."

Gomez breathed deeply, passion for her overtaking his voice. _"Cara mia…"_ He kissed her neck. "I was worried beyond belief that I was going to lose you." He shook his head. "But nothing, mi encantadora, could ever rip us away from one another."

"Of course." Morticia agreed. "Whether anyone likes it or not, _you're mine forever_." She kissed him.

" _Forever."_ Gomez nodded and crawled on top of her. _"For all eternity,_ mi hermosa diosa _…"_ His lips began to leave a fervent trail of desire down her neck. "Mi reina…"

" _Mmm…_ mon diable _."_ Morticia closed her eyes.

Gomez continued to kiss her… but Morticia's eyes darted to the door.

"Gomez?" She opened her eyes, reluctantly.

"Querida?" Gomez met her eyes.

Morticia eyed him, suggestively. "Did you lock the door?"

" _Tish…"_ Gomez groaned. "Not yet." He kissed her, then, before lifting himself off of his amore and getting up to walk to the door.

Quickly, he turned the lock… keeping all intrusions out.

He turned to face her, and grinned. _"Now…"_

Morticia's stomach flipped with the kind of fear she desperately desired to experience, every time he-

Growled, then he began stalking toward her. _"Where was I?"_

….

"This is where I used to take Scarlett."

Wednesday eyed her brother, unfeelingly. "It takes a lot to make me uncomfortable." She paused. "Being out here with you makes me uncomfortable."

This was the place he had come with his girlfriend.

This was the place her parents came when they _really_ wanted to be alone.

And something about sitting on the historic floor of the gazebo with her younger brother didn't feel right.

"Sorry." Pugsley sighed, observing their surroundings.

The decaying overgrowth, encircling the opposite of itself… or perhaps just concealing its true form from all who did not overlook its disguise.

The black gazebo which Pugsley and his elder sister now sat on the floor of. The aged, black centerpiece of the secret place.

The pond… the pond of a most unusual shape and form that surrounded the gazebo and flowed, carelessly 'neath it.

The thirteen, thin, dark brown Tiki torches placed between… and at the ends of every stream… never lit, 'less it was night. 'Less it was night and those who usually lit them took up short residence within its overgrown walls of dark greenery.

The secret place. The secret… dangerous, hauntingly beautiful… _historic_ , place.

Pugsley hadn't the intention of bothering Wednesday. He could do that somewhere else, and usually without even trying.

Rather, he wished to bring her here to talk.

He needed to converse with someone who could… well, perhaps not understand him, but… he wished to… well, she couldn't exactly help him… he wished to speak with his sister.

His elder sister who was brutally honest, monotone and constantly suspected of feeling no emotions at all.

But perhaps that was just what he needed right now.

"I miss her." He admitted.

"Who?" Wednesday asked.

" _Scarlett."_ Pugsley clarified, his voice wounded at her putting Scarlett out of her mind after it had only been a week since they'd seen the last of her.

But perhaps the hurt vocal inflections were simply jealousy at her ability to do such a thing, when for him it seemed impossible.

"Oh." Wednesday was grateful for her naturally even voice and expressionless face.

All the more easier to hide her disgust for that bat.

"She and I used to have our dates out here." Pugsley elaborated. "The one time, I… I…" It hurt to think about it.

"You what?" Wednesday pressed, less interested in him and more in the story.

"I held her hand while we skipped across the stones." Pugsley told her. "She was afraid of slipping and so I held her hand until we got to the gazebo."

"That girl hasn't a frightened bone in her body." Wednesday stated.

"No." Pugsley shook his head, contradictorily. "She does. She… she was. Her eyes- "

Wednesday cut him off. "You mean the red ones that deceived all of us? Yes, Pugsley, I'm sure they looked _very afraid_."

" _She was_ \- they… they were." Pugsley defended. "Her eyes… they never looked like Regina's did. They had a sense of… compassion, in them, and fear. But also, a lot of happiness when she was with me." He explained. "I gave her my jacket. And she looked at me like it was the single-most-nicest thing anyone has ever done for her."

"Well, maybe it was." Wednesday decided.

Pugsley squinted. "But then isn't that sad?"

"A girl like that doesn't deserve to have jackets handed to her." Wednesday said. "And on the subject of her being frightened of the water: if I were you, I would have just let her drown."

Pugsley sighed. "I didn't know she was going to help to try and kill me. Or mother. Or any of you." He defended.

"That isn't what I meant." Wednesday then elucidated: "I would have taken this as a sign that she didn't have balls and I wouldn't have bothered with her."

"Oh." Pugsley cocked his head, disagreeing with her blunt, harsh, coldness, but understanding that it worked for her. "Well, I took it as a sign that she needed me. So, I was there for her."

Wednesday began to pity this about her brother. She pitied quite of few things about her brother, actually…

But this, _this_ … was different. This was her brother attempting to rationalize deceit out of love for the traitor.

It was… _sad_ , really.

"Take it as you wish." Wednesday looked into his eyes. "Pugsley, you can't hold onto this forever. You're the kind of person who needs someone who is either your polar opposite or exactly like you. You need someone who you can be sure isn't going to screw you over. Unfortunately for you, you don't know how to find them."

"Do I want to?" Pugsley asked, genuinely.

"What do you mean?" Wednesday inquired.

"I mean do I want to find anyone else?" Pugsley explained. "I mean, I used father's tie. I loved her. I loved her like I've never loved anybody else- "

"Pugsley, she was your first girlfriend." Wednesday was having a hard time comprehending the depths of his feelings for Scarlett.

"I know." Pugsley shook his head. "But she was special. It was like… like she loved me, for myself. And I didn't have to be upset about being… myself, in front of her."

"Why would you not want to be yourself?" Wednesday questioned.

"Because I… I'm different." Pugsley never thought he would be telling anyone this.

But he was.

"I'm not like father. I can't just charm ninety-five percent of the Massachusetts population, or write a beautiful, macabre love poem in less than two hours, or wear his- my tie anymore!" Pugsley was becoming increasingly upset. "I don't look like anyone in the family! I don't act like anyone, I don't sound like anyone! Get an ancestry test. Somehow, I'm probably not even Italian!"

"Spanish, Pugsley." Wednesday corrected.

"That, too!" Pugsley was exasperated. "I'm not anything. I'm not anything but with Scarlett, I was something. I was me and I liked being me. And now, she's gone. And I'm nothing again."

Wednesday felt for her brother. Now… this was serious. He was upset and hurt.

And she was the only one who was supposed to hurt him.

She put a firm hand on his shoulder. "Pugsley, you are not _nothing_." She had been looking him, dead in the eyes ever since she began speaking. "You can blow up trains, and make dynamite out of nothing. You're good at chemistry." She added: "Not with women; but with science." She continued speaking to her brother. "Yes, you don't look like anyone in the family but you do look like you. You act like you. You're your own person…" Wednesday's voice was beginning to trail off. She shook her head. "That isn't a bad thing. If I had known you were having these problems, I would have told you long ago that… so was I."

" _What?"_ Pugsley was nearly rendered speechless.

How could Wednesday have been having problems? Let alone these problems?

Aside from the fact that Wednesday seemed to be void of any personal problems due to her monotone voice and expressionless face (which oft made her the one who inflicted ail, not received it herself), she was -in many ways- the spitting image of a young Morticia, with only minor differences.

How was it that she understood Pugsley, at all?

"Well… thanks, Wednesday." Pugsley said, unwilling to become used to her lack of homicidal tendencies or pure hostility toward him. "You look like mother." He told her, still unsure of how she could relate to him on any of this.

"That was the problem." Wednesday replied.

"But _why_?" Pugsley asked, arms crossed. "Mother's beautiful." He knew he would give anything to look like his father.

" _You think it's easy?"_ Wednesday sat up straight, folding her arms and raising a questioning eyebrow. "Constantly being told I _am_ mother, I'm going to _become_ her. Thinking: _Why_ bother _, being myself? If in the end, I'll end up as my mother._ " She sighed. "I had dreams… _visions_ , of mother's past."

" _You did?"_ Pugsley shook his head. " _I told you_ not to let Máma teach you magick."

"Since when have I ever listened to you?" Wednesday asked, rhetorically. "Máma has been teaching me witchcraft on and off for weeks." She told him. "But that isn't the point." She reminded both her younger brother and herself. "I was scared because I didn't know what being mother would mean. Then, I saw those visions and I thought I did. But… I was…" She swallowed, begrudgingly, unwilling to utter that word- "wrong." She confessed. "I didn't know a damn thing about what being her meant. Mother really is…" She couldn't think of the word.

"I feel like no words can do her justice, honestly." Pugsley admitted.

"No. They can't." Wednesday agreed. "But even still, I _want_ to be myself. I want to _look_ , like myself." She said. "I had these problems for days."

Pugsley leaned in. "What did you do… to, fix it?"

"I talked to her."

"Oh." Pugsley sighed. "I can't do that. I don't have that problem. I don't have anyone to talk to."

"Not true." Wednesday contradicted. "Talk to yourself."

"I tried that." Pugsley admitted. "I didn't exactly appreciate what I had to say."

"Then change what you have to say." Wednesday advised, as though this were the simplest task on Earth.

"Huh." Pugsley seemed to ponder her suggestion. Then, he squinted. "What made you want to help me?" He inquired.

"I could tell you were hurting." Wednesday explained. "And the only one who is supposed to instigate your suffering and draw it out, is me."

Pugsley smiled. "Thanks, Wednesday." He paused. _"Wait- "_

"Anyway," Wednesday changed the subject before he suspected her. "now, I don't have those problems."

Pugsley nodded, forgetting all about her prior claim. "Your nails are painted just like mother's." He noticed.

"Yes." Wednesday gave a solidifying nod. "They are."

The tears of the clouds poured out from their puffy, smoke-coloured forms (The force of grievance, now changed to a force of victorious relief.); strong, yet holding back… waiting to fully let go of all of their pent-up emotion, and instead allowing their tears to fall… lighter than usual.

Pugsley's head swished about internally as his eyes observed his surroundings, deeply… intently focused on the tears of the sky…

 _The way he held her pale, delicate hand… so small in his own, as the pair skipped across the stones of the stream that lead to their destination… the beauteous, black gazebo._

 _The way she smiled at him when they reached the gazebo… allowing him to take her hands, and dance with her under the cover of their shield from the weeping, ash-grey clouds. The way she smiled at him…_

 _Her smile._

 _Her smile was incomparable to any he'd seen before. It was… it was light. It was light, and… happy. Genuinely, happy. Not wicked, or devious or… another category, that had been burned in his ten-year-old brain since the Christmas party. No, her smile… was kind. It looked like she had a past that she didn't divulge._ Looking back at her smile… _it looked like she had a harsh history but looking at him… looking at him, that history didn't exist._

 _When she held his hands… her lithe body, pressed against his own… stiffly, until her joy and comfort in Pugsley's innocent, loving embrace loosened her up._

 _Innocent and loving… words Pugsley never did think to describe himself with._

 _But this girl… this beautiful, captivating, true creature of the night… she made him feel that way._

 _And for the first time, it wasn't bad._

 _He could be whatever he wanted to be around her. He could be charming, and sweet, humourous and romantic. He could… he could be himself._

 _And for the first time,_ that _wasn't bad._

 _It was wonderful._

 _It was wonderful until… until it wasn't._

 _Until he found himself strapped to that wall… his once beloved Scarlett Rose looking at him, acting like nothing between them had ever been._

 _But the music in their hearts that they'd danced to almost every night before, it was… it was…_

 _It was gone._

The tears of the sky, now washing them away.

Atmospheric tears… and his elder sister's voice.

" _Pugsley?"_ Wednesday called his name for what had to be the fifth time now.

"Yea?" Pugsley shook his head, snapping out of his trance.

"You were entranced by your subconscious." Wednesday told him.

Pugsley sighed; slowly, reluctantly changing the position of his head and the direction of his gaze from the cloud's water-consistent relief, to the eyes of his sister.

"I think I still am." Pugsley stated, a bit limply.

"I could throw you in the lake." Wednesday offered.

"No, Wednesday." Pugsley turned her proposal down, shrugging. "But thanks for the offer."

Wednesday nodded, looking out at the overgrowth… envisioning what she was well aware lied outside it. And more than that… what deceased relatives were buried far away from it.

She turned back to her brother. "Pugsley?"

"Yea?"

"Get two shovels." Wednesday instructed. "We're playing Wake the Dead."

"But that's a Halloween game." Pugsley said, confused.

"It doesn't have to be." Wednesday replied, her tone, macabre.

And at her words, the children jumped up… fearlessly skipping across the stones and out of the enclosed… secret place, running off to wake their deceased relatives.

Perhaps they could even rouse Cousin Cordelia.

….

Gomez's hands ran through the long, midnight-black hair of the naked, gorgeous, gothic temptress underneath him.

" _Cara mia…"_ He sucked her neck.

"Mmm _… mon amour."_ Morticia moaned, her nails leaving scratches down his back, holding onto him while he bit down on her. _"_ Ah _, do it again."_ She begged.

Gomez did, eliciting yet another sensual moan from his querida.

Gomez left a trail of passion up to her jaw. _"I adore you…"_ He groaned and kissed her, roughly.

Morticia's nails dug into him. _"I know."_

Gomez groped her breast, erotically and skillfully moved his hands, and his tongue… did he, make good use of his tongue.

" _Gomez…"_ Morticia's nails scratched up his back until her arms wrapped around his neck. She looked him in the eyes. _"I need you…_ now _."_

Gomez grinned. "Patience, querida."

" _Gomez- "_

Gomez growled and removed her arms from his neck, pinning them above her head. "Sit up." He ordered.

Morticia's stomach was in knots.

Gomez's eyes burned with a feral fire… animalistic lust taking over him… beautiful, dangerous, powerful, frightening… her diable.

She could never get enough of him like this.

Instantly, she did as she was told.

Gomez nodded with approval, causing his black angel's heart to skip several beats. Then, he took her arms and placed them behind her back, with little effort.

As of now, she was more than willing.

"Turn around." Gomez commanded, enjoying being in control.

He adored to take the lashes from her whip… and ignite a fire in those dark orbs of mystery of hers when he kissed her up her leg and called her, mistress.

But she was right. She always was.

There was something about being in control, having power… having trust, lust and desire forced to be controlled for the moment… the moment when salvation and mercy came only from the one in charge… the keeper of their heart, and of their release.

Yes. He did enjoy this, very much.

Morticia tried her best to maintain her composure and she turned around… waiting for him.

" _Mon sauvage…"_ She whispered.

" _Eres divina…"_ Gomez pushed her hair over her shoulder and desperately crawled on top of her. He kissed her neck from behind her, and traveled downward to her back, holding her arms out before her as she lied down atop the sheets.

But the wait… the wait Morticia was suffering through, for him to enter her was all consuming.

It was killing her.

" _Mon cher…"_ Her heart pounded.

And unable to control his desire for her any longer, Gomez took her.

He took her from behind and found his climactic euphoria soon after her, hearing the sharp gasps and adored moans he could evoke from his dark enchantress.

Once Morticia was lying back on her back, she grabbed him with an intense passion and crashed her red wine lips into his.

Gomez parted her lips, his tongue dancing in her mouth, perfectly with her own.

Morticia's eyes reluctantly fluttered open… and met the shining, silver, metal handcuffs on their nightstand.

She smirked, grabbing them off of their bedside table and holding them out to her amour, excitedly.

Gomez's eyes enlarged, hungrily and he took them out of her delicate, porcelain hands.

"Ah-ah, mi reina." Gomez began. "I've taken a liking to control."

Morticia raised an eyebrow. "Have you?"

"Indeed I have." Gomez replied, taking her wrists and cuffing them. "Be good for me."

Morticia eyed him, seductively as he cuffed her to their bedpost. "Since when have I ever been _good_?" She asked.

"Touché, my dearest…" Gomez replied, finishing handcuffing her. "Alright. Then listen to me."

"Now, _that_ …" Morticia responded. "I can try to do."

Gomez raised an eyebrow at her.

"That, I _can_ do… _master_." Morticia chose her words carefully, knowing that each name she called him… especially this, was going to make it… hard for him.

Gomez wanted dominance? Soul power was something he was going to have to work for.

Gomez groaned. _"Tish…"_

"Now, don't relinquish power so easy, _master_." Morticia smirked, loving what she was doing to him. "You like being in control."

" _God_ , you're killing me." Gomez shook his head.

 _Come on, old man. How many times are you really in control? Don't give it up so easily… don't do it._ He thought to himself.

He got an idea.

There was always one way he could torture her. And it worked every time.

It worked on him. And it worked, on her.

Gomez narrowed his eyes at her.

Morticia raised an eyebrow… but no longer cared about her facial expressions when her husband's lips and tongue began to leave a trail down her wanting body.

Perhaps he had relinquished control faster than she thought.

Gomez slowly caressed, and let his mouth run over every part of her… except where he could feel her growing desire.

Perhaps not.

Morticia's breathing was no longer stable as Gomez skipped over her centre… each time he did, she died a bit inside.

She knew exactly what he was doing.

He was breaking her fight. She was impressed.

Gomez's hands moved to where Morticia craved their presence most.

But he wasn't through with her, or his power.

Not at all.

" _Gomez…"_ Morticia's head rolled back, the begging of ecstatic pleasure completely assaulting her being.

And he stopped.

Morticia's eyes opened, her fight -true to Gomez's intent- breaking.

" _What was that?"_ Gomez asked, his lips… his hands… his tongue, now far away from where they once were.

So far… _too_ far.

Morticia bit back a groan. _"Master."_

Gomez seemed pleased with her correction.

He didn't start up again at first.

He watched as his dearest attempted not to squirm and only somewhat succeeded.

He grinned and came back to her centre, continuing again… longer, and feeling her body tighten in pleasure.

" _Mmm…"_ Morticia tried, desperately to bite back every name she wanted to call him. She tried… oh, she tried.

He continued, waiting for those words-

" _Mon diable."_ Damn it. Damn her senses. Her poor, desperate senses.

He stopped.

And his lips left a trail down her leg and up to her waist… he moved to her neck, and kissed it, lightly.

Then he met her eyes. "I beg your pardon?"

 _I beg for mercy._ Morticia wished to say.

But with as much restraint as she could muster, she held her tongue. "My apologies… _master_." She breathed out, attempting not to make her eyes appear so desperate for him.

Gomez nodded, his face so close to hers.

If only she could just-

And, taking longer than last time to begin again… he did.

He did; but he stopped abruptly.

" _Gomez-_ master _…"_ Morticia quickly corrected herself.

Gomez grinned, then throwing her own words at her. "I suppose you could beg me."

Morticia took a deep, laboured breath.

How is it that he could do this to her? He could bring her to such heightened ecstasy… make her feel like she was everything at the same time as he was causing her delicious pain…

How was it possible that after all these years, she only craved more of this as time went on?

It was possible, it was true because of how passionate and all-consuming her adoration was for him; and his was, for her.

She took another deep breath… unwilling to beg just yet, but knowing he was stubborn.

Like her.

"… _master…"_ Morticia's voice came out more as a whisper. She had to get control of herself back. "And what do I get from this?" She asked.

Gomez smiled and began again. _"This."_ He replied.

Morticia closed her eyes.

When he moved like that… she was more than willing to do anything he desired of her.

" _Please…"_ She begged, not caring whether she sounded like a fool. _"Ah!_ Please _…"_

With each impassioned plea, Gomez intensified the amount of pleasure he caused her.

Morticia was beginning to wonder what more she had to do to get him to give her everything she craved.

" _Master…"_ Her voice deepened with desperation. "please…" She groaned. "I am begging you, _please_ …"

And he didn't stop. He did what she desired and he steadied her buckling legs as he buried his head in her.

Morticia's hands writhed in her metal binds as she screamed his name and every other name she had ever called him, brought to the center of dark paradise.

" _Gomez!_ Mon amour _."_ Morticia felt her vocal cords were going to need serious repair after this.

Her vocal cords, her ego… and her will.

All in all, it was bleak heaven.

And when it was over… all Morticia wanted to do was fuck up his perfect hair and dig her nails so hard into his back that he bled.

Gomez hovered over her.

" _Release me_ , mon cher… _now_." Morticia wasn't begging anymore. She was dying.

Before Gomez could respond, Morticia looked at him with… those eyes.

Those vulnerable eyes and when she said his name, her voice… she was his beautiful, black angel.

As if under a spell -but one which he never wished to awaken from- he released her.

Immediately upon her release, Morticia dove at him… her nails leaving a pattern in his back that would put every work of art from the Blood Castle to shame.

She kissed his neck and his lips, biting down hard enough to break skin and take back control.

And she did.

Gomez was a slave to her. Anything she desired and he would do it, no begging, no pleading… no respectful name-calling required. She could whip him one hundred times for all he cared. He was hers.

Morticia pulled him as close to her as she could and kissed him again, then meeting his eyes. _"Prends-moi, mon sauvage._ Maintenant. _"_

No more words needing to be said, seeing the intense fire in her eyes and feeling it in his own, Gomez lied her down and entered her; all the while they cried out each other's names, feeling his back being scratched and dug into… brought him passionate, painful pleasure.

After, then, blissfully exhausted… Morticia curled up in her husband's strong, amorous arms.

Morticia sighed and closed her eyes, briefly. "I love you." She smiled.

Gomez kissed her. "I love you too, mi encantadora." He laughed and shook his head. "But must you always seduce me out of dominance?"

Morticia's eyes fluttered when she blinked. "Of course, mon amour. What fun would it be if I didn't?"

Gomez's lips met her neck. " _Tish_ … _mi amore de mi eternidad_ … I couldn't exist without you." He said against her pale flesh.

" _Mmm_ … or I without you, mon cher." Morticia sighed. "Which is why I knew that spell would work."

"What spell?" Gomez inquired.

"Do you remember when Regina had us up in the air?"

Gomez nodded, despising the very mention of that woman. "Of course. How could I forget? It was one of the most terrifying instances of my entire existence." He held her tighter and kissed her temple. "I thank everything there is to thank, every day and night, that you are alright."

Morticia looked into his eyes. "I… that spell… the ending translates to:

In the air, in which we rise,

To the ground, _ensure one dies_."

Gomez's eyes enlarged. _"Tish,"_ He squeezed her hand and caressed it with his lips. " _God_ , cara mia, what if… I would _die_ if anything…" He shook his head, in shock but unsurprised as his wife was the strongest, bravest woman there was.

Morticia nodded and placed a gentle hand on his cheek. "I know, darling. I know. But… as afraid as I was at the mere prospect of death without you," She said. "a small part of me knew I would be alright. After all, you promised me that you will always be with me, and that we'll only go together." She kissed him. "And you never break your promises to me."

Gomez exhaled, deeply and smiled in relief that she was alright… she was here, she was his. " _You are an enchantment_ , mi hermosa diosa. Your strength never ceases to amaze me."

Morticia snuggled up against him. "Merci, mon cher."

Gomez took a deep breath, stabilizing himself as much as possible and ran his fingers through her hair, rubbing her head.

A smile grace Morticia's features as she absorbed every ounce of affection (as if she were starved for it) and purred, closing her eyes.

Gomez laughed, romantically and shook his head.

She really was adorable like this.

" _My black angel…"_ Gomez whispered and his lips met hers.

Morticia wrapped her arms around him and willed their kiss to deepen.

It did, and then Gomez's lips moved from her lips, to her neck, and down…

Morticia -by pure happenstance- took a glance at the clock on the wall.

She let out an annoyed groan. "Gomez… unfortunately, it appears dinner is likely almost ready."

Gomez looked up and pouted a bit. "Tish… how many times do I have to tell you?" He asked. "Time mi encantadora, is nonexistent- "

"It's but a figment of our imaginations." Morticia recalled, forgetting about dinner and quoting him. "We've created it in order to function properly as a society."

"Fortunately for us, we never did fit in with society." The lovers stated in unison.

Morticia let out a soft laugh. "So you have no interest in eating?"

Gomez caressed her cheek. _"I do."_ He kissed her. "But I couldn't care _less_ about dinner."

Morticia smirked as her amour began to devour her neck.

 _A wise man once said: If we pay no attention to time, time does not exist._

….

Esmeralda was alone. Alone with her thoughts… with her… with her hurt.

She was grateful beyond full comprehension that her grandson made it out of that snake pit- _bat cave_ , alive. Well. That they all did.

But today was one of those days… one of those evenings where she gazed, longingly at the black-framed photograph of her deceased husband, that had been placed on her nightstand since she had moved into this house.

Looking at him… his darling face.

Jet black hair… a perfect mustache to match. A height of five-foot-eleven exactly. He was muscular for a man of forty-two. His skin was fair white, and he wore his black work suit.

She smiled, bittersweetly.

He adored being a mortician almost half as much as he adored his family.

His eyes were the darkest shade of brown… Morticia's eyes. He had Morticia's eyes, her jawline… her eyes, her eyes, her… beautiful eyes.

She wouldn't cry. She hadn't cried in months.

This time would be no different. Absolutely not.

But, she couldn't help but look at his smile.

His genuine, good-natured yet mysterious smile that drew her to him all those forty-one years ago.

He saved her from a living in Hell… and yet he called her _angel_.

She had been born and raised in what she could only describe as fire red flames of anguish and demons. Not the kind that made one want to get to know them, but the kind that made one want to run… run fast… run away and never look back no matter who was chasing they or they're mother down the hallway with a bottle and a knife in hand.

She was fifteen when she escaped it.

But was it escape? Or was it that she didn't have the balls to face… to face… _him_?

Either way… she vowed to grow bigger balls than any man in the world. She vowed never to be afraid. Never to be… intimidated.

So even when she got pregnant at twenty-one years old, she hadn't worried.

But of course, she had him by then.

She had her Charles.

And then she lost him.

She lost him and she had no one, she thought.

Of course, she had been wrong.

Her daughter, Morticia… she had been there. She had been like her father, a silent angel. And like her mother, learnt from flames.

But Charles was… he was the only man she could trust, then.

Truly trust, with everything she was.

Perhaps she wasn't a romantic at heart but they had their moments… she had her glory…

But her glory was gone, now.

And all she had to show for it was a couple of old photographs in her room and her once sparkling blue eyes, now frozen from the bitter cold they had been subjected to.

She carefully picked up the photograph of her husband and held it in her hands… eyes never leaving it. Never leaving _him_.

" _Charles, Morticia and Ophelia are downstairs!" A twenty-nine-year-old Esmeralda playfully hit his chest as her husband held her on top of him._

" _Well, how do they think they got here?" Charles, thirty-four, grinned. "You keep squirming like that and soon we'll end up on the floor."_

" _Mmm." Esmeralda nodded, and rolled her eyes. "Imagine walking in on that."_

" _Don't be ridiculous, angel. Morticia knows better than to just burst in." Charles assured her._

" _It isn't_ Morticia _I'm worried about." Esmeralda told him. "_ Ophelia _, on the other hand, has less manners than our cat had, legs."_

" _Stumpy had_ one _leg!" Charles reminded her._

 _Esmeralda gave a single nod. "My point exactly."_

 _Charles squeezed her waist and gazed into her sparkling blue eyes. "You know, I've always thought you had the most beautiful eyes."_

 _Esmeralda chuckled._ "You have?" _She shook her head. "I hadn't the slightest idea." She said, sarcastically; but her resolve, fading._

" _Oh, come on, angel…" Charles kissed her neck. "The window's open, let's have some fun. Flash the neighbours."_

 _Esmeralda quickly pulled the silver chain next to them and shut the curtains._ "You're bad." _She hit his chest again._

" _I am." Charles grinned. "But you said you liked that."_

 _Esmeralda finally broke out into a smile._ "I do." _She kissed him._

"You do?" _Charles asked, knowing the answer and kissing her again, deeply._

"I do." _Esmeralda smirked, eyes open._

" _You may now kiss the bride!" Charles laughed and kissed her._ "My darling…"

"My dearest…" _Esmeralda began unbuttoning his shirt._

 _Charles raised his eyebrows, eagerly and his hands found her skirts._ "Esmeralda- "

"Mother, father! _Morticia's driving me crazy!"_

"Damn it, _I told you_!" _Esmeralda jumped off of her husband, practically flying to the edge of the bed._

 _Charles sighed. "Yes, darling, you told me."_

" _Mother?" An eight-year-old Ophelia asked._

"Yes, dear?" _Esmeralda folded her arms, impatiently._

"I want to go to the beach _, but Morticia's not listening!" Ophelia humphed. "She keeps insisting we go to that_ weird _cemetery! I_ will not _go to another cemetery._ She always does this. _Always! Every time I want to do something_ normal _, she completely_ squashes it _with her weird ideas!"_

 _Just then, a seven-year-old Morticia appeared in the room, soundlessly, and crept up next to her sister. "Are you_ quite finished _, Ophelia?" She asked, perfectly poised with her arms, elegantly folded._

 _For such a mature -both in attitude and appearance- young girl, almost no one ever believed she was seven._

"Ah!" _Ophelia screamed, not having seen her sister approach her and feeling personally attacked._

 _Morticia suppressed a giggle._

 _This did not go unnoticed by Ophelia._ "See?" _She pointed at her sister._ "Do you see that?"

 _Charles suppressed a laugh as well. "I saw nothing."_

 _Esmeralda shot Charles an annoyed look._

" _Thank you." Morticia smiled. Then explained, diplomatically: "We were reading books in the library. For some odd reason, Ophelia was reading that_ obscene _fairytale book." She shuddered but then waved a dismissive hand before her sister could interject. "Ophelia said she wanted to go to the beach. I said that we've been to the beach one hundred times, and_ that sun _is really starting to hurt me._ I thought _we should go to the cemetery- "_

"Yea _, but she acted like that was a fun,_ family _thing to do and- "_

" _I was_ speaking _, Ophelia." Morticia reprimanded._

 _Charles suppressed a bemused laugh at his daughter's sophisticated diplomacy for such a young age._

" _All those trees, and beautiful headstones…" Morticia's voice trailed off, but she shook her head and continued. "She proceeded to argue with me as though I had said we should take a trip to… Disneyland or something."_

 _Ophelia scoffed. "_ That _would be better than_ the cemetery _!"_

 _Morticia got a shocked look on her usually stoic face. "Ophelia,_ where _are your principles?"_

" _At my school._ Where else?" _Ophelia rolled her eyes._

 _Morticia rolled her eyes, unable to help herself._

 _Charles, although he had been their father for the past eight and seven years, still had trouble grasping -every now and again- that these were real conversations between his two little girls. His two, polar opposite little girls._

" _I couldn't stand another trip to the beach." Morticia told her parents._ "That sun- "

" _It's_ the sun _, Morticia! Not a serial killer! If it bothers you so much,_ see a doctor _." Ophelia's cheeks were flushed, exasperated._

" _I was_ speaking _, Ophelia." Morticia scolded, yet again. "I think that we should go to the beach another time, when I have an umbrella I can bring and it isn't so… bright outside."_

" _Then what is the point of going to the beach?" Ophelia asked, floored._

" _I don't know._ I'm _not the one who desires to go." Morticia responded, calmly._

 _Ophelia stomped her foot, angered._

" _Now, there's no reason to get angry, Ophelia." Morticia held up a graceful, snow white hand. "I'm sure we can work this out."_

 _Esmeralda was amazed, but growing more impatient by the second and finally, spoke. "That's right. We can. And there doesn't have to be any bloodshed in doing so."_

" _Of course not." Morticia concurred, then side-eyeing her sister. "It would get all over Ophelia's dress." She teased._

" _Mother!" Ophelia pointed at her sister again._

"I know _, dear." Esmeralda sighed. "Morticia, don't tease your sister."_

 _Morticia bowed her head but was internally unfazed. "I'm sorry, mother."_

" _That's alright, Morticia." Esmeralda shook her head, fixing her hair._

 _Charles clapped his hands together, an idea coming upon him. "How about_ this _?" He began. "We'll go to the beach- "_

" _Yes!" Ophelia hopped up and down, excitedly._

" _I was_ speaking _, Ophelia." Charles chastised and folded his arms._

 _Ophelia looked from Charles to Morticia, a bit weirded out by their many similarities._

" _Sorry, father." Ophelia mumbled._

" _Now, we'll go to the beach. And then, we'll go to the cemetery." Charles decided._

 _Morticia smiled. "I think that's fair. Thank you, father."_

" _You're welcome, darling." Charles smiled back at her. "Now, run along… or walk." He winked at Morticia. "And have fun. Your mother and I will pack up." Before the girls exited, Charles called to his youngest daughter. "And Morticia?"_

 _Morticia turned back to him. "Yes, father?"_

" _Don't forget to feed Hubert and Henry." Charles reminded her._

" _I won't." Morticia promised and exited the room._

 _Charles and his wife hopped off of the bed in unison._

" _Esmeralda," Charles approached her and placed his hands on her hips. "We will continue this, I promise."_

" _Mmm. Next time, learn to lock the door." Esmeralda shook her head and wrapped her arms around his neck._

 _Charles saluted her. "Yes, ma'am!"_

 _Esmeralda giggled. "You know, darling, Morticia really should see a doctor."_

" _I know she should." Charles concurred. "She worries me with that sun intolerance."_

" _Yea. Well, I'll make her an appointment tomorrow." Esmeralda assured him. "She's always hated the sun. But, it's gotten really bad this past year."_

" _Tell me about it." Charles sighed. "She'll be alright." He attempted to convince himself._

" _Of course she will." Esmeralda placed an affectionate hand on his cheek. "She's_ our _child. She's a fighter."_

" _Damn right she is." Charles kissed her. "Now," He grinned. "Let's get ready to be good parents and please both of our children!"_

 _Esmeralda laughed. "We can only try, can't we?"_

 _And they did just that._

 _They tried, and they succeeded. They had gone to the beach, and had a wonderful time walking along the shoreline with Ophelia and building sandcastles to look like they came straight out of Transylvania or the French Revolution._

 _And they'd gone to the cemetery, and thought of different ways those with mysterious headstones might have died. And Morticia attempted to contact the spirits of the deceased while Ophelia attempted to conceal her bewilderment at her mother and sister's craft._

 _And then they'd gone home, and taken the children to bed._

 _And taken each other to bed…_

Esmeralda's memory of that day… of that night… it haunted her in the most beautiful way.

But looking down at the photograph of her husband who the cruel world had decided to rip away from her, there were… there were tears in his eyes.

Esmeralda wiped them away with her sleeve, recognizing that they were not her framed husband's tears… but rather, her own, that had dared to fall.

She looked up at the clock on the wall, and hurriedly placed Charles' photograph back on her nightstand.

It was six o'clock!

Hastily, she jolted out of bed, wiped the residue of her tears off of her face and walked toward the door, to exit her bedroom.

And as she turned the handle of the door to open it, she could have sworn she heard a voice.

 _His_ voice and… his laugh.

" _I've always loved that memory, angel."_

….

 _THREE MONTHS LATER_

October 23rd, 1991.

Pugsley was overjoyed about his birthday party; mostly because he got to spend it with his family and not dead, his bloody corpse having been fed to the cannibals of the Black Forest.

Cousin Itt, Cousin Lumpy, Aunt Esther and so many others that he hadn't seen in weeks showed up for his birthday party.

They had played an array of games which Wednesday had designed. Pin the Tail on the Black Cat, for example. Unbeknownst to Pugsley… the birthday boy was supposed to be the black cat.

They'd also played such creatively designed games as Fire Juggling, Is This Really Poisonous?, Find the Knives, Find the Cemetery and Find the Body. Each one was great fun for the children who attended.

And they had danced. Everyone had gone to the grand hall and sang up a storm, and danced 'till they dropped. And Gomez promised Pugsley that one day when he graduated and married (in what order, neither party was sure just yet), he would get to be the guest of honour, and dance the Mamushka with him. And that was a promise Pugsley swore to himself, he would always remember.

His parents had danced the tango and stolen the entire floor. But no one minded; they were completely entranced with every movement. That, and by now, they were used to the couple's deep adoration and open affection and desire for one another. Most of the family was either unfazed or found it rather endearing.

The presents… all one-hundred of them were stored in the dining room, for now (thanks to the ever-efficient Lurch).

It was at times like this that Pugsley realized what a large family he indeed had.

He devoured a piece of Lucifer's Blood Cake as he thought about it.

Although he didn't have a great deal of time to.

In the den, where the partygoers collectively sat and at their cake, the light collision of glass with metal could be heard from the front of the room.

They all looked up to see the heads of the family raising their glasses.

"A toast!" Gomez proclaimed, waiting to continue until everyone in his sight had their glass raised. "To our wonderful son, Pugsley."

Pugsley, mouthful of cake, raised his glass and smiled.

Morticia and Gomez shared a look of bemusement.

"And to the glorious mysteries of life." Gomez continued. "To all that binds a family as one. To mirth, to merriment, to manslaughter."

"Hear, hear!" Esmeralda raised her glass higher.

"To dear friends." Gomez gestured to Pugsley and his sister, who glared at him, irately… but not as much as usual.

"To _new_ friends." Gomez gestured to Lurch, Thing and Itt's sister, Anastasia, whom had been conversing nonstop for the past hour.

"To _youth_!" Gomez raised the glass to his son, who still had cake in his mouth that refused to be swallowed. Then her turned to his wife, taking a step closer to her. _"To_ passion _."_ He grinned.

"To paradise." Morticia smirked.

" _To_ pain _."_ Gomez's glass crossed over hers as he leaned in.

" _Tonight."_ Morticia promised.

Gomez kissed her, passionately, neither one of the amorous pair noticing their entire family applauding and clinking wine glasses around them.

The two delved deeper into their shared kiss and dropped their glasses onto the floor as they began to completely devour one another, enamoured, in love, souls bonded, and… blissfully unhappy.

Pugsley did take notice of this as he finally swallowed that troublesome piece of cake… and he smiled.

He smiled, because Regina was wrong.

Their parents loved their family and they loved, one another more than anything or anyone else in the world. This wasn't just his parents making-out for the umpteenth time that day. This was his example.

And what a darkly beautiful, wonderful example it indeed was.

Pugsley looked down at his fork, having been licked clean of cake.

And he stared at it.

His fork. His, oddly crystal clean despite it having been covered in Lucifer's Blood Cake mere seconds ago. His fork.

His fork.

His fork.

Forks. Scarlett.

While his example was ready to go at it in the middle of dinner that night, he had been twirling his forks in an attempt to reenact the scene before him… envisioning it as he, and Scarlett.

Gazing into the fork… he stared, now, into his own eyes.

His eyes.

His eyes.

Her eyes.

Odd… his fork never did have a tinge of red.

And his cake had been black.

 _It was not the old man who vexed me. But his evil eye…_


End file.
